








“'''“'”‘»wtn.«t«««B»t»T***'*’** ^fT 








V\ ' 










f' / “"'V 

f f % 

i. C ■t't 'l '; 










U c); 

\ K y 


y . 


't ^••»«.(*’^ 










• -f - 


J>r - ■' ■" :*^- -- " ■ ' , 


-> 




^v. , 


•' *>■' 






^ • 


•,-V 

X* - 



> 


n- 


- ••o . 




<• . 


% 


'■'■S 


1 • 


/ '4^-. V- '*• . i ■ 

rr.r;0-/'‘r» ;• 

'■ 't*'* . lT ■ #. ‘ •■ ^ - • '. 


4'/ 


<-i. 


‘' .'■ '''-tr#-.' • ^ 

: ^ -I V 

. »»* *► > 1= ■< 

A*^,). -Vf V 4 


' . ' >- 

i« V; V 




K : 


\ ' 


•■■■■ ■ - V' 

V.' • • V- . , •<. 


i 


' - -— Hi-. ■ 
*•'• A <v 


. » . 


t*K i.:. 




* .. 



’X* •-"/•■' *5: 

; . -'-'O 

•. 


■■ -:^<3 ■; 


I « 


. -s ♦a 

"X 


♦'» 




T 






' . r 


V >_ 


• > 11 ^ ■ - ••■* •• 

• ^ * V . I ^ • 

' . - • s . ,*. , • /-y ■ • 

■, r • " •' ' . • 


> • 


’t 


>- 
•V «* 


• t 


■4 


.\ 


' ^ 


V,'<^ 

< 






s . . 

• . ' . ^*1 


• 

• 4 V 




.>■ I 


. *» '• 

• * 


'r;? 


• I < . . 
- 

f *■ 




•*^ 




^ •. 


«** 

•» 


V' 



4v j 


■•>•• . •• 


-^ 


- \ 


. •• ■( 


✓>. 


4* *< 


,f . 


. A< 


f- V .• 

. 1 




f ^ 


•- 't- • 

^ ' y: ■; ' 


y • 

* 

t 


. • . -=*:• 

k *• • . 




A\- 




'4- 

\ 


a • 

a;. 




* 

>’*• ' 


«f # . - . 


‘‘.A *>'■' 


y ' A 


t'' 


- , A.- ' 

'•.‘r ’ ’. .'T 


V *-i'i '■ 




r. V 



\ • 


« n 


rl.,: '■> 

V i . 

: . . ' * . - . - : . *1 


• i , 

‘ < 


I < 


c: 




• \ 




■’ V 


V. ». 

i . 

*. w’. 


» 


• » ' 
• «. 

» . 


»• •• 


. y • \ 

• .t > ' • 


vA3: 

♦ A 

' ^ * • 

» '■■/ '■ 

V'' ^ •. /. 

s 

J* - V ' 

, •-/ ' 



f : 






-• % s.* 




*. *4 








;.v 


Lj-y.. 


tC 







yy ' A'": ^ 

■ V‘ . - ■ . ♦ ■’ • , -■ ' 

X2^x/ y. .r. . : * • 


'4-- ■■• 

4^. 

• A'-.' 

7K 

;.« •■ / »■ 


*v’* 

i. 



• 


:-s;\; 

y 

V 

'py 




‘ 

S-V' 


• •■>r’ 

' ► 

. *■ 




,. yr/M 


V • 


» '- > 


• s . 


i:> 


. *'■• ' '■ 


. V' 


/ • V * . • • 

■y . -r 
- > . • ' 




• . > 


- V 


7- r. 


. -L. V •.. , » 


J ^ :< 


. ^ ‘r 

• >» - ■ ' ^i' 

• * • . V . r\ ■ 


-r- 


•r;'- 










t i 



, * 


:< 




. . < V.-Vi :. ■ ’ '-■V.- 


„ ^ Fl ; !j* ^ -I ’ 

» • * “ V # 


4 
f • 


^ < 






. » 


•.r v*yr ' - -r/. 

y ••fVv 

- A .'t^w-yvj.v -• • • 


4 


1 -'^ 


. > * 


•1- ■-. •. • . •■■ 


.. . * V . -- 

• . • y >‘. / >5^, j . 

, . ' . * ■ • • j .* _ i* .'V 




-,■ •. /■ 


• <r 


r* V‘. • • 



. ■ ' \ / 'ii I 

■ " ’ ■ ■■ 




* . . • , . > ■' -' \ ^ 













A ROMANCE OF GLENWOOD 
. . . SPRINGS . . . 


By Mrs. A. M. Book, 

DENVER, COLO. 


Copyright, 1905 
By Mrs. A. M. Book 



Published By 

COLORADO BOOK COMPANY, 
Denver, Colorado* 




library of CONGRESS 
Two Coplos Received 

DEC 8 t905 

CoWrtcAt Enfry 
^l^L^cnr. /. / 9 ^ ^ 

CLASS O- AJlt- N® 

COPY B. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter Page 

I. — Lady Chillingford and Her Son Arthur 3 

II. — Meeting of Arthur and JaaQphine. Rollins 6 

III. — Josephine Taken as a Waiting Mald^ 10 

IV. — Arthur in America \. . i \ _ 15 

V. — Josephine Goes to America.........’...; 20 

VI. — The Changing of the Babies.’.':..-.'.:...' 27 

VII. — Josephine’s Departure 

VIII. — The Martin Family 38 

IX. — Count Willoughby Receiyes^a better; . .t. 43 

X. — At the Asylum 51 

XI — Miss Josie Lee 58 

XII. — Clarence and His Mother 64 

XIII. — The Train Wreckers 71 

XIV. — Mr. Bray’s Marriage. 76 

XV. — Count Willoughby Now Becomes Baron Walton 80 

XVI. — In Jail 83 

XVII. — Helen Has a Suitor 89 

XVIII. — Frank Alton’s Proposal 93 

XIX. — Mrs. Rainor’s Evidence 98 

XX. — The Mysterious Letter 103 

XXL — Clarence in Trouble. 107 

XXII. — ^Mrs. Bray’s Sentence Ill 

XXIII. — The Detective Finds a Clue 116 

XXIV. — The Coal Mines ...124 

XXV. — Helen and Clarence 132 

XXVI. — A Friend in Need 135 

XXVII. — The Arrival of Baron Walton 143 

XXVIII. — Reconciliations ... * 149 

XXIX. — After Many Days 154 

“The Glenwood Amazon Guards” 156 


A Romance of GIcnwood Springs, 


By Mrs. A. M. Book. 


PREFACE. 

March i, 1891. 

The object of the author in writing this book is not to show 
the ability of the writer, but to place before the readers, in 
the form of a romance, the wonderful healthgiving, springs of 
Glenwood. This is not written for an advertisement of these 
springs, to benefit only a few capitalists who' are now invest- 
ing in Glenwood property, but tO' place before those who hap- 
pen to read this book, that Glenwood Springs is not only a 
health resort, but also a pleasant place tO' reside in, and with 
the many attractions that surround it, one can find not only 
health but contentment. 

The writer being one of many who have been greatly bene- 
fited by the wonderful waters of these springs has endeavored 
to show tO' others that she appreciates their wonderful cures, 
and that others who' may be suffering with some disease that 
the doctors have pronounced incurable, might by these few 
lines take advantage of the advice here given, and visit these 
springs and thereby be benefited by them. 

If in the future some poor unfortunate being is through 
this book brought to these springs and are helped by these 
wonderful waters and can go away saying ‘T am well,’’ then 
the object for which this is written is gained, and I will feel 
her face bore the lines of sorrow that rests upon the brow, 
that it has not been written in vain. 

By the Authoress, 


Mrs. a. M. Book. 


- 3 — 


CHAPTER 1. 

LADY CHILLINGLORD AND HLR SON ARTHUR. 

In England, where my story begins, in a beautiful dwelling, 
the property of the present Earl Willoughby, sat a lovely 
lady; she was reclining on a sofa, surrounded with luxury 
which may be seen in the dwellings of the wealthy. 

Although she lived within those walls surrounded with 
everything she could wish of worldly goods, she was sad, and 
where the heart has ceased to hope, and earthly happiness has 
flown. By her side sat a young man; health was pictured on 
his handsome face, but one could see that he wore a weary 
look, and when he raised his eyes to look at the lady, a look 
of pain would overspread his brow, and a weary sigh escape 
his lips. One could see at a glance that they were mother and 
son ; the likeness between them was very noticeable. 

The lady was Lady Chillingford, and the young man was 
her only son, Arthur. Though once wealthy, through the 
mismanagement of her husband, they were now at his death 
reduced to extreme poverty. 

The lovely house they now occupied was the estate of a 
relative, and they were now living on that relative’s bounty. 

Lady Chillingford had long hoped that her son would be- 
come the heir of the Earl Willoughby, but on Arthur’s return 
from college, the Earl requested him to marry an heiress, one 
whom he had long ago chosen tO' be the bride of Arthur. But 
when Arthur heard this he refused at once, and the result 
was a violent quarrel with the Earl. This was the cause of 
his mother’s present grief. 

Depending on the Earl for their living she felt it their 
duty to please him in this marriage, and chiding Arthur with 
unfeeling gratitude toward his benefactor, they were now on 
the verge of a quarrel. Arthur’s first thoughts were to go 


— 4 — 


away and seek employment, but tO' leave his mother depend- 
ing on the Earl was a bitter thought, and he was angry with 
her to think that she could accept anything in this way from 
the Earl. 

But gazing upon the careworn face of his mother, his heart 
sank within him, and a look of pity took the place of anger, 
and with a sigh he turned away, not knowing what to do or 
say. 

His mother, half rising from her reclining posture, spoke 
in a distressed tone of voice. “It is all very well with you, 
Arthur; you are a man and can take care of yourself, but I 
am no longer able to do anything toward my support, and am 
compelled to depend on the Earl’s charity, while you can go 
and mingle with the world, seek employment in many ways. I 
am here alone not even one to converse with, except one ser- 
vant, and each day becomes more dreary than the last.” 

“Dear mother, I have often wished you to consent to have 
a companion and there is a girl at the farm who is wanting a 
situation, so I heard a few days ago, and she seems to be a 
very bright girl. I have seen her several times when I was 
visiting the farm on errands for the Earl ; she is not very old, 
but seems rather young ; her presence would cheer you and you 
could help her in many ways.” 

“What do I want with a young girl with bright eyes and a 
handsome face, for, nO' doubt, you think she has these attrac- 
tions ? Time was when I was called handsome, but look at 
me now. There is no more pleasure for me. What matters it 
now how handsome I was once? Oh, if I could only die and 
leave this world of wretchedness ! What do you care for my 
feelings, or you would obey the Earl’s wishes and then I should 
at least know that you were provided for? What if you do not 
love her? There is something else necessary in life besides 
love. But, no; you would rather ramble around and never be 


— 5 — 


anything but an out-cast and perhaps fall in love with some 
housemaid for her good looks and always be a pauper, when 
you might be a gentleman if it were not for your own foolish 
ideas/’ 

‘‘Now, mother, what is the use in your going on in this 
way? Haven’t I always been a dutiful son? Is not this the 
first time I have gone contrary tO' your wishes? You are only 
despondent; if you would only cheer up and consent to have 
this girl come and stay a while with you, I am sure you will 
feel differently and it will be more cheerful for us both. I know 
you are lonely, and with some one to chat with, will change 
your feelings. . It is true we are poor, but I can care for you. 

I can soon earn enough for us both, but I cannot go and leave 
you alone with only one servant. If you will consent to have 
a companion, then I will feel contented while I am away, and 
I can soon earn a home for us both. You are not feeling well 
now, and you look at this in too dark a way, and with some 
one to cheer you I am sure you would soon feel that I am try- 
ing to do the best for us both.” 

“Very well, Arthur, I suppose you are right; you can go 
and bring this girl ; I will take her if she will come, but, mind, 
I do not promise how long she will stay, for it will not be 
very pleasant for any young girl tO' stay in this lonely place. 
However, I will try her and you can bring her when you wish.” 

“That is right, dear mother; I will go to-morrow and see 
if she will come, and I am sure you will not regret it.” 

“As I will not be up when you start, I will not get to- see you 
again before you go, but make what arrangements you please 
with the girl. As it is now getting late, I will retire, so good 
night, Arthur.” 

“Good night, mother.” 


— 6 — 


CHAPTER IL 

meeting OE ARTHUR AND JOSEPHINE ROUTINS. 

The next morning Arthur arose; after eating his breakfast, 
he hurriedly saddled his horse and led him out of the yard, 
then, mounting his back, he turned and looked toward the 
house. Everything was so quiet; his mother was quietly 
sleeping, and he wondered if, when she awoke, she would feel 
as ill as she had been the past few days ; she had been so ner- 
vous and excited he feared she might change hiCr mind in re- 
gard to having a companion. He feared the girl would not 
exactly suit his mother, as she was not very ref.ned, but she 
might do until he could find another more suitable. But at 
present he knew of no other. 

The morning was fine and everything looked cheerful as 
Arthur rode along the shady lane, meditating on what he 
should do. 

Thus we will leave him as he has a long ride before him, 
and it is now getting toward noon, and we will now take a 
look in at the farm, and see what is going on the^e. 

‘'Josephine, Josephine! Where can that girl be? Dreaming, 
I suppose, as usual. I can’t imagine what will become of that 
girl. Instead of attending to her work as she should, she is 
off wandering around the farm, imagining herself some fine 
lady walking in her garden of roses. Josephine!” 

“Here I am. Aunt, what do you want of me?” 

“Want of you! What does anyone want of you ^ Here 
it is almost dinner time, and nothing doing toward getting it.” 

“I did not know it was so late; I have been out in the field 
with Uncle to see if I could help him.” 

“Help, indeed! Little help you are to anyone; it would be 
a blessing if you were some good to some one — it would be 
a good thing if your uncle would find you a situation — you 


— 7 — 


might be a waiting maid to somebody, but you are of no good on 
a farm that I can see/' 

Josephine hung her head and could not say anything. True, 
she was giving much time to idle dreaming; she longed for 
something better than farm life. 

Josephine was an orphan, and her Uncle had taken her to 
raise when she was quite small. She was an only child of a 
favorite brother, who died penniless, leaving his little daugh- 
ter to his care, and he having nO' children, felt it a duty to pro- 
vide a home for his little neice. Having been married for a 
great many years, and no children had come tO' bless his home, 
he at once took little Josephine to his heart, and made a great 
deal of her to his wife's displeasure. His wife was a nervous 
fidgety woman, and although she liked Josephine, she would 
always treat her with much indifference, and Josephine would 
look to her uncle for sympathy, which he was always ready to 
give her. Her aunt was much given to scolding and harrang- 
ing, and this would often cause Josephine to follow her uncle 
to the field as soon as any task was done that was given her to 
do. She had been sent to school and being a very bright and 
attractive child, she was admired and petted by her teacher, 
and humored and spoiled by her schoolmates. She learned 
very fast and w^s considered a very good scholar. 

She was now sixteen years of age and her uncle thought she 
might be of some use at home and it was time that she should 
learn tO' work, for, not having much of an education himself, 
he could not see the use of it in a woman. Although but six- 
teen she was very small for her age and seemed but a child, 
and her aunt treated her as such. 

But Josephine was high minded, and being in the habit of 
acting the lady at school, she could not content herself with the 
every-day humdrum life on the farm. Her aunt became more 
dissatisfied, finding fault with everything she done, which an- 


— 8 — 


noyed Josephine, and knowing she was depending on them for 
her living, she longed to be free to care for herself, and had 
several times made inquiries for a situation, but her uncle 
would not listen tO' her. 

It was in this way that Arthur had heard of her and wished 
to get her for a companion for his mother. 

Now, Arthur had no other motive but the interest of his 
mother at heart, and as for Josephine herself he had but little 
thought. Arthur had often visited the fami in behalf of the 
Earl, as it was his property, and he trusted Arthur with the 
management of it a great deal. Now Josephine had often 
seen Arthur on those visits and she often made it a point tO' be 
in the field when she knew by her uncle's talk that he expected 
Arthur. She had on many occasions tried to attract Arthur's 
attention to herself, but he had not paid any attention to 
her and treated her as a child, while she was grad- 
ually giving her heart to him unasked, and flattering herself 
that he cared for her. While he only looked upon her as a 
child, she felt that she was a woman and wanted others to 
regard her as such, and now she was sixteen and her own 
silly heart had become madly in love with Arthur, while he, 
little dreaming of her infatuation, treated her as a child, if he, 
indeed, noticed her at all. 

On the morning of which we speak, was about the time of 
Arthur's usual visits, and Josephine had gone to the field in 
hopes that if he came, she would get to see him, for he very 
seldom came to the house as his business was with Mr. Rollins, 
and he was always sure to* find him in the fields. 

Josephine had given up seeing him and had returned to the 
house in time to hear her aunt calling her, as we found them. 
She was about to make some reply to her aunt's words, when 
there was a knock at the door, and on opening it, to her aston- 
ishment, there stood Arthur. 


— 9 — 


Josephine was so confused she could not speak. Her aunty 
on seeing who' it was, invited him in. 

Arthur soon made known his errand, and had it happened 
at a time when Mrs. Rollins was in a good humor I doubt 
very much if she would have consented to let Josephine go, 
for, after all, she liked her and she knew she would miss her 
for she was a great deal of help tO' her if she did not want to 
own it tO' others. So, when Arthur told her his errand she 
was glad to be rid of her, and readijy consented tO' her going, 
to Josephine’s delight. Arthur remained until after dinner, 
and Mr. Rollins was consulted and at first refused to listen to 
it, but was soon persuaded by Josephine, who seemed to be 
delighted with the chance of getting away, and then, too, she 
was to go tO‘ his home, to be with him, and this was enough to 
turn her silly head. After some hesitation from Mr. Rollins, 
it was finally agreed that he was to take her the next day in 
the farm wagon, to Lady Chillingford. 

Arthur then took his departure, leaving the family to talk 
over their plans, while he hastened home to tell his mother of 
his success. Arriving at home, it was quite late, but he has- 
tened to his mother’s room and told her of the arrangement 
with Josephine, then he bade her good night and retired. 

^*c - 


— 10 — 


CHAPTER III. 

JOSEPHINE taken as a waiting MAID. 

The next morning Arthur arose and took a ride to the vil- 
lage near by to get the mail and to find out if there was any- 
thing he could get to do, as he must begin to plan some way to 
earn a living for himself and mother. Not hearing of any- 
thing of any importance, he slowly rode home by another route. 
He soon overtook a farm wagon jogging along, and on coming 
up tO' it he found that it was Mr. Rollins and Josephine. Ar- 
thur rode alongside of the wagon on the rest of the way home, 
conversing with them in a friendly manner. Josephine flat- 
tered herself that Arthur had ridden out of the usual way on 
purpose to join them on their way. She was silly enough to 
think Arthur cared for her, and she was now determined to win 
his love. She imagined he was unusually attentive to-day, and 
this pleased her. She was all in a flustration when they ar- 
rived at the house. 

Arthur dismounted and helped her to alight and at this 
moment Lady Chillingford appeared at the window. She 
watched them closely and with a suspicious light breaking over 
her features, she did not let one move escape her gaze, and now 
thought she, ‘T see it all. This is why you are so interested in 
this girl. You think your old mother blind, and will not guess 
your intentions; you are in love with this girl; you want me 
to make a lady of her, and have her near you. Oh! I will 
watch you when you are not dreaming of it. Yes, it will be 
best for me to have her near me, so I can watch them both.'' 
And going from the window she seated herself at her desk 
and was busy looking over some papers when Arthur came in, 
closely followed by Josephine who was looking frightened, for 
she did not know just how she would be received. 

Lady Chillingford received her very coldly, but seemed to 


— 11 — 


be interested at once, and after a few formal words passed be- 
tween them, she then ordered dinner to- be served. 

Mr. Rollins remained to dinner and Lady Chillingford made • 
a great many inquiries concerning Josephine’s antecedents, and 
finding nothing objectionable, she treated Mr. Rollins with 
friendly regard, who' soon began to- talk of going home. He 
had a long talk with Josephine and seemed loth to leave her 
while she began to feel how much she liked her uncle and 
dreaded to see him go. After his departure Josephine re- 
turned to- the room assigned to her, adjoining that of Lady 
Chillingford. Going to the window she looked out and 
watched her uncle until he was out of sight, then she sat down 
and began to look around her room. Surely it was nice 
enough for a lady, and she was pleased with this show of 
respect for her. 

Lady Chillingford was stirring around in her room, and 
soon she called to Josephine, who came in at once. With a 
frightened but pleasant air she courtesied and took the seat 
offered by Lady Chillingford. 

‘AVell, Miss Rollins, do' you think you will be contented to 
live in this place?” 

‘Wes, indeed; I think I shall be delighted.” 

“But, will it’^not be very lonesome for you without some 
young person tO' talk to? I cannot be very good company for 
one so young, and we will be alone here most of the time.” 

“But you forget your son ; surely it cannot be lonely where 
he is.” 

“My son will soon leave us; he is going away, and there is 
no certainty when he will return.” 

“Going away” ! And Josephine’s face clouded. 

“It is as I thought.” And Lady Chillingford watched her 
closely. “It is him that brings her here, and I shall have to 


— 12 - 


watch him/’ Then, turning to the girl with a keen look, she 
said : 

■ ''Yes, he is going away and we will be alone, and I shall 
need you very much. You may gO' now tO' your room; you 
must be tired with your long ride, and need rest.” 

"Thank you; I am tired.” And Josephine turned away with 
a white face, and was glad to be alone with her thoughts. 

"So he is going away. What can take him away at the 
present time?” How she longed to ask more, but she was a 
little afraid of his mother; she could not understand her and 
she did not want to let her know her feelings toward Arthur, 
for she feared she would send her away. 

While, on the other side. Lady Chillingford was determined 
to find out for sure if Arthur was interested in her, and now 
she would have a good chance to watch them both, and by 
being kind to Josephine, she could keep her under her eye. 

Arthur, being all unconscious of his mother’s suspicions, and 
also Josephine’s feelings toward him, treated Josephine very 
kindly for his mother’s sake. Days passed and Arthur began 
to look about for something to do, but could hear of nothing 
that suited him. His mother’s health was failing very fast, and 
Josephine never lost an opportunity to show him how much she 
wished to please him. Sometimes he thought she sought his 
good will more than that of his mother’s but being slow to take 
notice of anything concerning himself, he paid no attention to 
anything that passed. 

He was very attentive toward his mother, for now he began 
to fear that she would never get well, and he put off going 
away, for he knew it would almost break her heart to part 
with him, and he did not want to worry her. 

The Earl had not called to see them for he was very angry 
with them both, but made no move toward turning them out 
of their present home. He pitied Lady Chillingford in her 


— 13 — 


helpless condition, but he had counted on her influence over 
Arthur to win him over to marry the heiress, so he now kept 
away from them in hopes that Arthur would change his mind. 

The time passed away and Lady Chilingford grew rapidly 
worse, and Arthur was constantly with her, and Josephine 
helped to make her as comfortable as possible. 

Arthur’s mother forgot to watch them now, and seemed 
unconscious of their presence, and they knew the end would 
soon come 

One evening, after a long and tedious watching, Arthur was 
sitting by the bedside of his sick mother, when he noticed a 
decided change in her looks. He spoke to her, but she did 
not answer. He then called Josephine and they both tried to 
get her to speak. She said not a word but looked at them, and 
glancing from one to- the other in a strange, startled way, 
silently closed her eyes and expired. 

Arthur was wild with grief at first, but Josephine helped 
to sooth him, and her presence was very much appreciated by 
him. She helped him with the funeral arrangements and with 
him followed her to the grave, scattering flowers upon her 
last resting place with feelings of love. She could not remem- 
ber her own mother, and as Arthur’s mother she had won her 
love and regard. 

After the funeral Arthur made arrangements for Josephine’s 
return to the farm. He was now free to go- away to seek his 
fortune. His desire was to go to America, but while his 
mother lived he could not go so far from her. But now he 
was at liberty to go where he pleased. 

He soon made preparations for his departure, telling Joseph- 
ine that he was going to America, but saying nothing other- 
wise of his intentions. 

Josephine, with a sad heart, returned to the farm, only to- be 
more discontented than ever, but she believed Arthur cared 


— 14 — 


for her, and she had no idea but that he would write to her. 
She knew that he was poor now and thought that and the 
losing of his mother had prevented him from asking her to 
be his wife, and with these thoughts she settled down until 
she might hear from him. 

In a few days she learned from her uncle that Arthur had 
sailed for America. 

Arthur did not again see the Earl, but wrote to him telling 
him of his mother s death and his intentions of going to 
America, and after mailing this letter to the Earl Willoughby, 
he took the first steamer sealing from England to America. 


— 15 — 


CHAPTER IV. 

ARTHUR IN AMERICA. 

On arriving in America, Arthur soon found employment 
in a large drygoods establishment in the City of New York, 
and after a year of steady employment he had gained quite 
a sum of money and invested it in real estate, and was doing 
well. 

Among the many patrons of the store was a wealthy widow — 
a Mrs. Reading, whose husband had been a dealer in real 
estate, and dying, had left his wife very wealthy. They had 
one child who was now at school and Mrs. Reading was very 
proud of her boy. When vacation came she always tried to 
make them very pleasant for him. 

Clarence was now a boy of fifteen — a bright and manly lad 
and a great favorite among his companions. He was a hand- 
some boy, with dark hair and eyes, a clear complexion. He 
resembled his mother who was a very handsome woman, about 
thirty-five and who seemed much younger. She had a very 
lively disposition, and pleasant, winning ways. One could feel 
at home at once in her presence. She was fond of society and 
her house was always filled with gay young company, and 
whoever her guests might be, they were very proud of her 
friendship. •(- 

On one of her son’s vacations she gave a party and invited 
many of her friends, among them Arthur. He being a little 
acquainted with her and hearing so much about her many ac- 
complishments, he readily accepted her invitation. 

This was the beginning of many evenings being spent at 
her house, and soon he was madly in love with the widow, 
and she with him. 

Soon the vacation was over and Clarence returned to school, 
and Arthur and Mrs. Reading became more enamored with 
each other than ever. But Arthur was poor, while his pros- 


I 




- 16 - 


pects were good toward the making of a wealthy man; and 
now he could not think of asking the woman he loved to be 
his wife, as her wealth made her far above him in the eyes 
of the people. So he became very despondent and tried to 
keep away from her. But she would come to the store and 
invite him home with her to tea, and treated him with the 
greatest respect. She would ask him why he looked so' ill, 
and he would make some trivial excuse which was not wholly 
true. She knew he was very proud and she feared her wealth 
was standing between them, but what could she do ? 

Arthur was about distracted; and sitting one evening with 
his head in his hands, leaning upon the table, with his un- 
touched supper before him, in deep meditation, there came a 
knock at the door. ‘‘Come in,’' he said, without arising or 
looking around. 

“Please, sir, here is a letter for you.” 

“A letter? Let me have it then, and he hurriedly opened 
it. With a look of surprise, he hastily read it through, and 
this is what he read : 

“London, England, October 20, 18 — . 

From the Office of Seek & Find, Attorneys at law. 

Mr. Arthur Chillingford, U. S. A. 

Dear Sir: 

You are hereby notified of the death of the Earl Wil- 
loughby, and his entire fortune has been willed to you; 
also the title of Count Willoughby. The property is 
in our hands, and you are requested to come at once and 
take possession of your estate. 

Yours truly, 


See^k & Find, 
Attorneys at Law.” 


— 17 — 


Arthur arose, very much excited, and donning his hat was 
soon out upon the street, and walking hurriedly, was soon at 
the door of the Reading mansion. 

The servant appeared, and on seeing Arthur, invited him 
at once to the parlor. When Mrs. Reading appeared she was 
startled at the excited appearance of Arthur. 

“What is the matter?” she exclaimed, when beholding Ar- 
thur in such confusion. 

“My dear Mrs. Reading, I hardly know how to begin. You, 
no doubt, know my feelings toward you. But until tonight I 
have not dared to tell you of the great love I have for you. 
Heretofore I have been poor and unknown, and had I remained 
so, what I have to say would have never been told. To-night 
I have received news — ^good news, for me — if it brings me 
that which I have so dearly craved. I am now a rich man — 
how rich I do not know, and now I only want your love to 
make me the happiest man on earth. I love you and now ask 
you tO‘ be my wife. Tell me if I am mistaken in that you 
return my love?” 

“Dear Arthur, whatever your prospects are, remember that 
I loved you before I knew this and had you asked me, I should 
have readily accepted you before now. You do not know 
how it has grieved me to see you so downhearted, but what 
could I say to you ? I feared it was your lack of wealth that 
made you act so toward me, but how could I tell you that I 
had enough for both ? And, believe me, I love you and will 
be your wife if you have not a penny.” 

“My darling! you make me very happy, but what do you 
say to becoming a countess?” 

“A countess ! What do you mean ?” 

“I mean that I am now the Count Willoughby and vvhen you 
become my wife, you will be the Countess Willoughby.” 

Mrs. Reading was much surprised, but it was with great 


— 18 — 


pleasure, for she was very ambitious, and this new title would 
place her on an equal standing with the best of New York 
society. She would not only gain the man she loved, but 
very great distinction in society, so placing her hand in that 
of Arthur’s she said with much feeling : 

''Arthur, you indeed surprise me, but I am happiest in know- 
ing that you love me well enough to make me your wife, and 
that title I shall prize above all, nO' matter what other you 
may bestow upon me.” 

Arthur then told her that he was obliged to go to England 
at once, and it was arranged that they were to wait until his 
return, and then they would be married. 

Mrs. Reading was much grieved to part with him, but they 
both agreed it would be best. So he bade her good bye, and 
hastily left the house and hurried to his own lodgings, and that 
night made preparations for his journey, and on the following 
morning took his departure for the home of his birth. 

Arriving in England, he hastened to the office of the firm 
called Seek & Find, and there found it all to be true. He was 
now a very rich man, with a titled name. He visited his 
mother’s grave, and wondered if she knew, and was satisfied. 
He then visited the Rollins family. They were very glad to 
see him, and Josephine seemed overjoyed at his return. He 
told her he had only come for a short time, and -would return 
immediately to America. Josephine’s heart bounded within 
her for she thought he had come for her. But Arthur said 
nothing of his intentions, only that circumstances that he could 
not explain compelled his immediate return. He said nothing 
of his good fortune or his title, and she thought he had come 
only to see her, and believed him still too poor tO' marry. 

When Arthur took his leave of her he placed in her hand 
a bank note and quietly remarked she might find use for it. 
He thought she might use it in learning some trade suitable 


— 19 — 


for women, and he wished to repay her for her kindness to- 
ward his mother. 

Blit Josephine did not look at it in that light, and went on 
deceiving herself. Arthur soon settled his affairs and returned 
to America, where he found his intended bride awaiting him. 
They were married at once, and went to reside in a handsome 
mansion chosen by Arthur, where they were much sought 
after by society. 

They lived in a constant whirl of excitement, for to be en- 
tertained by the Count and Countess Willoughby was some- 
thing to boast of. 

Thus a year went by and they were very happy. Nothing 
to mar their perfect happiness. Clarence came home on his 
usual vacation, and was much pleased with his mother's hus- 
band, and her new position in society. He was now ready to 
be sent to college, and after a pleasant vacation with his 
mother and new father, he returned to school for four years 
more. 

The countess, as we will now call his mother, was grieved at 
first to part again with her son, but as she now had new 
interests at home, she soon became reconciled. 


‘C 


ff ' 


— 20 — 


CHAPTER V. 

JOSEPHINE GOES TO AMERICA. 

We will now return to Josephine at the farm. After Ar- 
thur’s departure she became restless, and could not settle down 
to do anything. Her aunt had nO' patience with her, and many 
were the wrangles they had between them. This only made 
Josephine worse, and she was determined tO' leave. 

Her uncle tried to get her a place but failed to find any suit- 
able. He then proposed that she should learn a trade, to which 
Josephine finally consented. She would have to go to the City 
to do this. Her uncle took her in the wagon to the village, 
where she could take the cars for the City. They passed by 
the estate of the late Earl Willoughby, which now belonged 
to Arthur, but they did not know it. The Earl had willed the 
farm to Mr. Rollins, but he did not know that Arthur had fal- 
len heir tO' the rest of his estate. And when Josephine saw 
the house that she had spent so many happy hours in because 
she was near Arthur, she now began to feel despondent, and 
thoughts of Arthur again filled her mind. She became silent 
the rest of the way and her uncle, not knowing of what she was 
thinking, drove on and left her alone with her thought. But 
if he had known he would have turned the horses heads toward 
home instead of the way they were going. But little dreaming 
of what was going on in her mind he drove on and arriving 
at the depot, he purchased her a ticket and made sure that her 
trunk was checked. The train was about ready tO' start and 
he found her a comfortable seat in the car, and then bade her 
good bye and left her. He then returned to his home. Joseph- 
ine parted from her uncle with a less sad feeling than before, 
for she was now anxious to be away, and with a sigh of sat- 
isfaction she settled herself down in her seat. 


— 21 — 


The train was now speeding awa)^ toward the City, and she 
began to think of what she was going to do, and where she 
was going. Her mind soon wandered back to Arthur, and she 
began wondering where he was. She knew that he had gone 
to America, but where in i\merica, she did not know. He had 
been gone a year now and she had not heard a word from him. 
Slie wondered why he had not written ; he might be ill, and all 
sorts of imaginations filled her mind. How she longed to 
see him. She had no doubt but that he still loved her, and 
could not believe but that some misfortune was keeping him 
away. She thought of him working tO' get her a home and 
then he would come for her. But why did he not write to her? 
Then she pictured tO' herself that he was sick with no one to 
care for him. Oh ! if she could only go to him and care for 
him ! How she would work and nurse him back to health : how 
pleased he would be to know that it was her great love for 
him that brought her across the wide ocean to him. 

She had scarcely let these thoughts pass through her mind, 
when her attention was drawn toward a lady who was sitting 
in front of her. She saw that the woman was about to faint, 
and she hastily went for some water. She bathed her face and 
she revived. She then asked the woman if she was traveling 
alone, to which the lady replied that she and her husband were 
on their way tO' America, and that he had gone into the smok- 
ing car ; that she was not well and had become faint. She then 
asked if Josephine were traveling alone and Josephine then 
explained her circumstances. They soon became quite socia- 
ble. The lady then told her that her name was Mrs. Martin; 
that she and her husband had run away to get married. Her 
parents had objected to her marrying Jack Martin. They 
thought that he was not good enough for her, and he was 
poor. She had been raised in luxury and could not understand 
the want of money, and imagined herself desperately in love 


- 22 - 


with Jack Martin; she had consented to elope with him. They 
had been married in a quiet little church in the country, and 
then started on their journey to* America. She had become ill 
from the motion of the cars, and beginning to feel very lonely 
on leaving her home. She soon became much attached to Jo- 
sephine, and before they had traveled far she had persuaded 
Josephine to go with them to America. 

Josephine had the money that Arthur had given her, so 
she was we\l supplied for the present, and had enough to take 
her through and would have some left. 

All this Mrs. Martin found out, and this made her more 
anxious for her to go with them, as their money was not so 
very plentiful, and she thought Josephine a good friend to 
rely on in case theirs should run out. 

JO'Sq)hine did not tell them why she was so willing to go 
with them. She only said as she had her own living to make 
that she might as well be in America as any place else. 

Mrs. Martin knew nothing of Arthur, so when Josephine 
consented to go with them, she was delighted, and they soon 
became great friends. Josephine did not stop where she had 
intended, but went on with the Martins. 

Jack Martin being a gay, careless man, made the trip much 
pleasanter than they expected. Josephine did not like Jack 
but his wife made up for it, and she had but little to say to 
Jack. Mrs. Martin was a perfect lady and was quite young 
and good looking; she seemed tO' be worried and 
did not seem so happy as a bride should be. Josephine 
noticed this and did not ask any questions, but tried in every 
way tO' make her cheerful, but as soon as Josephine was out 
of her sight, she would fall back into gloomy silence. Jo- 
sephine thought she half loved and half feared her husband, 
but she said nothing about it to her, and they passed the time 
away as pleasantly as possible under the circumstances, Jo- 


— 23 — 


sephine being very happy now that she was on her way to 
Arthur. 

On arriving in America they looked about them for a suit- 
able place to locate, and as they had landed at New York, they 
thought they would remain there for a while. . They found 
them a house in a respectable part of the suburbs and at once 
went to housekeeping, Josephine remaining with them. Jack 
locked around for work. As he had no trade he was com- 
pelled tO‘ work at common labor and that being scarce, he was 
idle most of the time, and spent his time around saloons 
and gambling halls. 

Josephine remained with Mrs. Martin, who was not well, 
for several months. Then she found her money was giving 
out, for she had loaned several small sums to Jack which he 
had failed to return. 

Josephine began tO' think of hunting a situation. She had not 
heard anything about Arthur and did not know how to* make 
inquiries, as she was rather timid about it and did not want 
to mention it tO' Jack Martin. She answered several adver- 
tisements, but always failed tO' get a situation. She began to 
think now that she had made a mistake in coming to America. 

Mrs. Martin’s health was failing very fast and she seemed 
quite helpless. Jack seemed more careless and neglected her 
more than ever, and she was left almost entirely with Josph- 
ine, who was now discouraged and downhearted herself, and 
could give but little encouragement to anyone. 

At last Josephine could do no> other way but to seek an 
intelligence office to find employment. There she was more suc- 
cessful and learned that a countess was wanting a maid. This 
just suited her and she at once made application for the situ- 
ation. To her joy she was engaged and at once took up her 
abode in the lovely mansion of the Countess Willoughby. 
Josephine not knowing that Arthur was now Count Willoughby 


— 24 — 


little dreamed that the lovely countess was his wife. The 
countess informed Josephine that her husband was away on 
business in England and was unfortunately delayed, and 
would not arrive as soon as expected, which greatly dis- 
turbed her mind as she was very anxious for his return. She 
was living very secluded now, for she was expecting an heir, 
and the absence of her husband worried her very much. Joseph- 
ine spent the most of her time with the countess, but fre- 
quently visiting Mrs. Martin, and between the two she had 
but little time for anything else. The countess, to pass away 
the time, would sit with her needlework and converse with 
Josephine who seemed tO' please her very much and wishing 
to know more about her, asked her if she had friends in 
America. 

‘T have only a few friends,’’ replied Josephine. ‘‘The fam- 
ily I came with, and a gentleman who has been here for a 
year or more, but I have not seen him since my arrival and 
do not know his address.” 

“But why don’t you make inquiries for him? What is his 
name and business?” 

“I do not know his business, but his name is Arthur Chil- 
lingford.” 

“Arthur Chillingford ? Why, that was my husband’s name 
before he became Count Willoughby.” 

“Count Willoughby! Is it possible? Surely you must be 
jesting!” exclaimed Josephine in surprise. 

“No, I am not jesting. When I first met my husband he 
was Arthur Chillingford, but since then he became Count 
Willoughby by the death of a relative. He is now in England 
looking after his estate. We are very wealthy and all we can 
wish for now is a son and heir to make our happiness com- 
plete, and that will soon be, and I know he will be pleased to 
know that I have an old friend of his with me. I am sorry 


— 25 - 


you did not have his address, for then you could have come 
to us sooner, and I know he would have been pleased to have 
left you with me when he went away, for we had some diffi- 
culty in procuring a suitable maid. But now you are here 
it will be so nice as you are an old friend of my husband’s. I 
shall be pleased to help you all I can, and you will stay with 
me now and make our house your home until you get married 
and have one of your own, and then I am sure I shall be sorry 
to lose you.” Then, looking up at Josephine, she exclaimed in 
surprise : 

‘‘What is the matter; are you ill? Sit down and let me 
bring you some water; you are as pale as a ghost.” 

“I do not feel well, and if you will excuse me I will go to 
my room.” 

“Certainly, my dear girl, you dO' look ill. Go to your room 
at once and lie down, and I will send for the doctor.” 

“Oh, no, no ! Do not send for the doctor. I will soon be 
all right; I am subject to these spells, and with rest and quiet 
I shall be all right.” 

And leaving the room she hastened to her own and closing 
the door tightly, she turned and placing her hand upon her 
side as if tO' still the wild beating of her heart, she paced the 
room in great excitement. She was almost frantic and clasp- 
ing her hands tightly exclaimed tO' herself : “Have I come 
all this way, and for this ? How could he treat me in such a 
manner? And this is why I have not heard from him! He 
has been married a year, and I did not know it. I have been 
spending time in vainless hopes, loving him to distraction, 
while another woman has been his wife all this time. Oh, how 
I hate her! Yes, hate is a feeble word. I despise her. Only a 
short time ago I thought I could love her, but now — Oh, how 
different ! I perfectly abhor that fair face, when I think he must 
admire it ! Oh, what shall I do ? Make this my home, indeed ! 


- 26 — 


When I should be the countess instead of her ; but now only a 
servant ; her servant. ; and he will soon be here. I must leave 
this house! I cannot breath the same air with her! And she 
thinks she loves him, and she has not known him two years, 
while I have loved him all my life, and must I give him up’ 
to her now? And he; does he love her? Oh, how can I 
bear it? She says all she wishes now to make his happiness 
complete is a son ; and he is soon to have that ! Oh, how I 
could crush his hopes; why not? Has he not ruined my life’s 
happiness ? What can I do now — go away and leave them to 
their happiness? Oh, no! I will stay; I will have revenge! 
They have ruined my happiness, and I will live to ruin theirs!” 
And casting herself upon the bed she buried her face in the 
pillows and gave herself up tO' thought of how to be revenged. 


— 27 — 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE CHANGING OE THE BABIES. 

The countess was somewhat anxious about Josephine’s ill- 
ness, and the more she thought about it, the more it worried 
her. She could not help thinking how changed she looked 
when she had told her of her husband. But, surely, he was 
nothing to Josephine. She was only his mother’s servant, and 
Arthur would never make love to a servant, and Josephine had 
only claimed him as a friend. Surely she need not worry 
about that, for her husband was too noble to wrong any 
woman.” And yet she had some misgivings that all was not 
right with Josephine. She had thought Josephine would be 
glad to know that she was her friend’s wife. But she seemed 
to be horrified instead. 

''What could it mean?” She liked Josephine and now 
would need her so much, and if she was ill, how was she to 
get along without her? And thus she worried and fretted the 
rest of the day. 

In the evening Josephine did not come down to supper and 
the countess sent a servant to inquire how she was. When he 
returned he said that Josephine was out. The countess then 
thought she must J)e better and had gone out for a walk. But 
requested that she should come to her as soon as she returned. 
But Josephine had gone to Mrs. Martin’s and thinking the 
countess would not look for her tO' come down again that 
evening, believing that she was ill. She spent the evening 
with Mrs. Martin, who, during the time, gave birth to a baby 
boy, Josephine and a neighbor woman being the only ones 
present. 

After seeing Mrs. Martin comfortable for the night and 
leaving her in the care of the woman, she took her leave and 
hastened back to the countess, who, in the meantime, had 


— 28 — 


taken suddenly ill. The servant had gone for the doctor and 
nurse. Doctor Strong and the nurse, Mrs. Gray, were both 
busy when Josephine entered. She hastened tO' the bedside 
of the countess, when the doctor placed a bundle in her arms, 
saying: ‘‘Here, you take the baby and dress it; the nurse 
will be needed here with me; the countess will need both of us.’’ 

Josephine took the bundle and hastened to the dressing 
room, where everything had been prepared for its coming. 
She began to dress the baby and found it was a girl. Her 
mind was filled with many wicked thoughts; she felt as if 
she could murder the child, had it been a boy, but a girl — she 
gloried in their disappointment and smiled a wicked, revenge- 
ful smile. But what was it to her disappointment? It was 
his child and they would soon love it as well as if it had been 
a boy. No; this was not enough ! She wanted to deprive them 
of something they loved. She wanted them tO' know what 
it was to love, and then have the object of their love taken 
from them. But how could she do it? Then an evil thought 
entered her mind and catching up the baby, she threw a shawl 
over her head and hastily left the house, and going out through 
the back way she followed the alleys, and it being quite late 
and dark, no- one noticed her as she hastened along until she 
reached the house of Mrs. Martin’s. She gently entered and 
found Mrs. Martin alone, and going up to her bed, she placed 
the baby by her side, saying in hurried words : 

“Now, Mrs. Martin, you have been worrying about your 
boy, fearing he would not be raised a gentleman under your 
husband’s care; why not place him in a position where he 
will be educated and raised as a gentleman ? Here is a chance 
to take this little girl in his place and raise it as you choose, 
while yours will be educated and raised a gentleman; then you 
can have your son back, and you can care for this little girl 
as you see fit, and no one will know anything about it.” 


— 29 — 


Mrs. Martin was as a child in the hands of Josephine, and 
Jack entering at the time, soon entered into- the scheme, see- 
ing a chance of big money in after years, and he soon per- 
suaded Mrs. Martin to agree to the change, for Jack had no 
love for his own baby, and one child was the same to him 
as the other. 

So Josephine, taking the baby of Mrs. Martin in her arms, 
hastened back to the mansion. She found that she had not 
been missed from the house, but came near being detected 
by the nurse who came in soon after and found her busy 
dressing the baby, but leaving the room again, Josephine was 
left alone with her charge. After dressing it in the fine clothes 
that had been so carefully prepared by the countess for her 
heir, she placed it in the cradle and covered it up gently, and 
then sat down to think over the daring thing she had done. 

‘‘What if the doctor and nurse should find her out? But, 
no ! she would not think of it, for now she would dare to do 
anything for revenge. She would give them this baby to love 
and cherish and when they had learned to love it dearly she 
would tell them that it was not their own and cause it to be 
taken from them, and she began to chuckle over her daring 
act. Soon the nurse came for the baby to take to the countess 
who had asked for her boy. The doctor had gone and the 
nurse knew nothing of the baby’s sex. She placed it in the 
arms of the countess who was now sO' happy. The count had 
not yet arrived, but on the following morning he came and 
hastening to his wife’s room, she placed the baby in his arms 
and he was now happy indeed. 

The countess told him of Josephine’s presence, and he was 
doubly surprised and pleased, and his wife could not see any- 
thing in his actions to make her suspicious of him, so she 
began to think she might have been mistaken with Josephine, 
after all. 


— 30 — 


She called Josephine to her and told her of Arthur's pres- 
ence. She seemed a little excited at first, but when Arthur 
entered the room she seemed quiet, and at her ease, she shook 
hands with him and quietly answered his many questions con- 
cerning her trip to America. He told her he had called at 
her uncle's and that they thought her still in England. He 
expressed his satisfaction of finding her with his wife. Jo- 
sephine told him that she had come away without the knowl- 
edge of her uncle, and that she wished to make her own 
living without their aid. So it was agreed that she should 
remain in their employ. 

The Martin family did not seem to be doing well and many 
times Josephine had to contribute to^ their maintenance, and 
so she began to encourage Jack to gO' west. She did not like 
to have them so- near; she was in constant fear that her secret 
might be found out, and she was not yet ready to let it be 
known. So, after having let Jack have money enough to take 
them away, they started west with no particular place in 
view. Jack having heard so much of the wonders of the 
mines in the west, he was anxious to go, for the wild, reckless 
life just suited him and he was resolved to see the Black Hills 
region, which was now drawing sO' many west in search of gold. 

Josephine bade them good bye, with feelings of relief, while 
Mrs. Martin felt very badly on leaving Josephine behind. 

They were to write to Josephine when they got settled and 
if they were successful, she was then tO' follow; in fact, she 
wanted a place to go to when she was ready, but she wished 
to work out her scheme first, and her first thing tO' do was to 
get the Martin family out of the country. She felt quite 
relieved when they were gone, but the time dragged heavily 
along, and every day brought some new trial for her to bear, 
and she began to hate the countess more and more, and her 
feelings toward the count were growing very bitter. She could 


— 31 — 


see that he was perfectly infatuated with his wife, and many 
times when he asked her to do something for his wife, he 
would command her in a way that nettled her to be ordered 
tO' wait upon the countess. It was now time for her tO' begin 
her scheme, and she must begin some way to estrange Arthur 
from his wife, so she nursed her anger and began by com- 
plaining to Arthur that the countess neglected the baby, and 
that she did not love it as she should. 

The countess began to go out in society again and her 
time was very much occupied, and although she loved her 
baby very dearly, she could not spend as much time with it 
now as she had when it was younger. It was now two years 
old and was left very much tO' Josephine’s care. She had heard 
from the Martins ; they were getting along very well and were 
now in the Black Hills. Josephine now thought it time for 
her revenge, as the countess was having it all her way and she 
was the one that was made to suffer. But her time had now 
come to make them, feel the misery that she had felt for the 
past few years, sO' trying to- keep the good will of the count, 
she would often speak of the neglect of the countess in regard 
to the baby, only now and then, but she could see it was telling 
on the count. The countess, being in society so- much now that 
he began to see^ as he thought, her neglect of the baby. 
Often, when coming home, he found Josephine walking the 
floor with the child, and would tell him that it was sick arl 
needed his mamma. The countess then being out at some 
grand social and having a good time. Although the child 
was not sick, Josephine would tell the count how sick he 
had been, and had just fallen asleep. This would irritate the 
count, and many times to Josephine’s satisfaction she would 
hear him speak in an angry way about his wife’s heartless 
manner toward their boy, for he loved their boy almost to 
idolatry and nothing could wound his feelings so much as 


- 32 — 


any seeming neglect of it. 

Thus Josephine sowed her little seeds of distrust in his 
mind toward his wife, which was to increase ten thousand fold. 

Two more years went by and little Arthur, as they called 
their boy, was now four years old. The count and countess 
were now very unhappy, but neither could explain the exact 
cause. Josephine was working her revenge very successfully. 
The countess often complained of Josephine to the count and 
would threaten to discharge her, but the count would not 
listen to her, and always excused Josephine, which annoyed 
the countess very much. Josephine did not care for little 
Arthur, and whenever she could, without being found out, 
she would treat him unkindly, for she only looked at him as 
a tool with which to work her revenge upon the count and 
his wife. She often gossiped with women far beneath her in 
respectability and one especially who had a grudge toward the 
countess. This woman would often stop Josephine on the 
street to get tO' gossip about the countess and as she never 
had anything good to say, Josephine would be glad to listen 
to her and often sought her society unbeknown to the countess. 

One day the countess beheld her talking to this woman, and 
forbid her speaking to such people while in her employ, and 
this maddened Josephine and a few angry retorts was the 
result. The countess told her husband of this and how Jo- 
sephine would take their boy into the society of such people. 
This did not please the count, for he was very particular about 
the society his boy was exposed to, and he also forbid her 
taking him there again. But Josephine did not care for their 
advice, and would often take him and spend hours in the 
company with this woman and other women who had children 
of little Arthur’s age, and who often led him into mischief. 
But the count knew nothing of this until one day he was sitting 
talking with his wife, about Josephine. The countess was 


— 33 — 


remarking about Josephine's behavior toward little Arthur. 
The count said that she took better care of him than anyone 
else, not excepting his wife, and he accused the countess, of 
not caring for his son. This grieved her very much and they 
were yet conversing in this manner when a knock was heard 
at the door, and on opening it, there stood a man with little 
Arthur in his arms, who was covered with dirt from head to 
foot, his clothing being in sorry plight. Josephine had let 
him wander into the street while she was gossiping with the 
people whom she had been forbidden to speak to, and Arthur 
had come very near being run over by a hack. Some man hap- 
pened to- see him in time to^ save him from the horse's feet; 
he had fallen down and was lying in the dust and was nearly 
suffocated with it. The man happened to know the child and 
brought him home to his parents. 

The count was in a great rage on beholding his boy in such 
a plight, and asked where Josephine was that he should be 
neglected in this way. His wife told him that she had taken 
the boy for a walk and had not yet returned. 

‘‘Then," said the count, “send for her; I will not have this 
thing occur again." He walked the room in a rage; it seemed 
that his wife was right about this, after all, and he would 
put a stop tO' it at once. 

The covmtess took little Arthur to his room and washed him 
and changed his clothes and put him to sleep, then returned to 
her husband who- was still in a great passion. Josephine had 
not yet returned; she was hunting the child in every direction, 
and at last was told of the accident, and how the child had been 
taken home. She knew there would be trouble with the count 
and she did not know what to do. But,^ putting on a bold 
look, she entered the house as though nothing had happened. 
As she came in the room where the count was still pacing 
the floor, he turned toward her with a look of indignation. 


— 34 — 


‘‘What does this mean; how came you to lose the boy?’’ 

“I was talking with a friend and he ran away. I did not 
notice his absence until he was out of my sight, then I went 
the wrong way to find him.” 

“Well, this must not happen again. If you cannot take 
better care of him, we will find some one who will.” 

“Very well; you can get some one as soon as you please, for 
I will not care for him any longer.” 

“Then you may consider yourself out of our employ, and 
you can look for another situation. I will not have a servant 
who will not obey me. Your conduct has been unpardonable.” 

“Very well, sir; you will find out that I am not the only 
one who is neglecting your child. If my conduct is unpardon- 
able, what may your wife’s be when you know all I have to 
tell you concerning her?” 

“That will do; I will not have my wife slandered by a ser- 
vant.” And he waved his hand toward the door as if to say 
“begone!” 

Josephine gave a fierce glance of hatred toward the count 
and turned to go. She caught the look of satisfaction on the 
face of the countess, who had sat silent during the whole con- 
versation, and who, now that Josephine was discharged, sat 
looking triumphantly watching her. 

Josephine gave her a look of intense hatred and then turned 
to the count and said : 

“Beware of her!” pointing to the countess. “I go, but you 
shall hear from me again.” Then suddenly left the room. 

The same evening she packed her trunk and went out for 
an expressman to come for it, while she went to see her 
friend whom she had been talking to when she lost sight of 
little Arthur. 


— 35 — 


CHAPTER VII. 

JOSEPHINK^'S DEPARTURE. 

The countess, being unconscious of Josephine’s seeking re- 
venge, she could not understand her threats, and paid no' more 
attention to them. 

But not so with the count ; he was very much worried with 
the actions of Josephine, but could not think that she meant 
anything very serious. He told his wife to advertise for an- 
other servant and then immediately left the house. 

The countess went to see how little Arthur was getting along 
and finding him asleep, she took a book and sat down tO' read, 
all unconscious of the web that was being woven around her 
and that she would soon be entangled within it. 

Josephine soon told her friend of her trouble with her em- 
ployer, and that she had tO' hunt another place at once, to 
which the woman invited her to remain with her until she 
could find another situation. 

Josephine gladly accepted the invitation, for she had not 
yet made up her mind what she wanted tO' dO' first, and she 
wanted to get somewhere to collect her thoughts, and make 
some plan to- carry -out her scheme. She had now begun and 
must not stop until she had succeeded in her wicked revenge. 
She did not intend to let any of them know where she was 
going, for she had made up her mind to follow the Martin 
family out west. So, telling the woman that she had some 
friends out in the country, she thought of making them a visit, 
but before she went she would put an advertisement in the 
papers for another situation. 

She asked for pen and ink and paper and then sat down and 
wrote a long letter, but how different from the advertisement 
she claimed she was writing, for when she wrote the address 
it was to the Count Willoughby. Then, putting on her hat. 


— 36 — 


she went out tO' mail the letter, and hastened to the first letter 
box, she dropped it in, exclaiming : 

‘‘There is another step toward my revenge! When he reads 
that, who will be to blame the most, the countess or Josephine? 
Won, sir, count, will now find out what it is to slight even a 
servant girl, and we will see who will be the happiest, you 
or I ? And you, my fair countess, will know what it is to be 
robbed of the love of one whom you hold dearer than any- 
thing in this world, and if I can turn his love for you tO' hatred, 
as he has turned mine toward him, then I will indeed be re- 
venged on you both. 

On returning tO' the house she was in time for her supper 
"but could not eat but very little, as her mind was busy on 
othe’r things. She began to wonder if she could get to the 
depot in time for the west bound train. She then told the 
woman she thought of starting to the country that night if 
she could get to the train in time. So, putting on her hat 
and bidding the woman good-bye, she hastened to the depot 
and found her trunk had been delivered all right. She then 
bought a ticket for Cheyenne, Wyoming, the nearest station 
to the Black Hills, where she would have tO' take the rest of 
her journey by stage. 

She entered the cars and was soon on her way. It took 
several days' traveling before she reached her destination, and 
on her arrival at the town called Deadwood, she soon found 
to her dismay that the Martin family had left and no one 
knew where they had gone. 

Josephine was now tired and discouraged and to find the 
Martins she was determined to do, but it was no small under- 
taking, without the slightest knowledge of their whereabouts. 
But she must not give them up on the account of the child, 
and she must keep her from her parents as long as possible, 
now that she had informed them of her existence, and Jack 


— 37 — 


would soon sell her to them if he knew of it. She knew he 
would not give her up without a heavy ransom, but she did 
not want to give her up at all, until she saw fit to dO' so, as 
she wished to keep them in suspense as long as possible. 

Josephine looked about for some time until she was satis- 
fied they were indeed gone, then she began to think of how 
to proceed to find them. She made up her mind that they had 
gone farther west, so she started for Denver, Colorado', but 
with the same success. She could not hear anything of them. 
Her money was now scarce and she was obliged tO' find some- 
thing to do. Just about this time there was a great rush to 
Leadville, and she at once started for the new mining camp. 
She soon found employment, and saving her money, was 
soon investing in mines with good success. As yet she had 
heard nothing of the Martin family, but still in hopes of their 
turning up sometime. W e will now leave her. 


— 38 — 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THK MARTIN TAMILY. 

Jack Martin, with his wife and child, wandered from one 
place to another — sometimes in Denver, other times in some 
remote mining camp — always leading a wild and reckless life, 
trying only to evade the law. He was known as a tough and 
often the police were close on his track ; then he would go to 
some other town, there to lead the same lawless life. 

His wife became discouraged. Her health was entirely 
broken^ but she always clung to little Eva, as they called their 
little girl, and never neglected her for a moment, for she loved 
her very much, and she had quite filled the place in her heart of 
that of her own child. Sometimes her husband abused her 
for loving her so much, but she guarded her very carefully, and 
when sickness and poverty and ill usage from her husband 
had caused her to lose her mind, it was but a short time before 
it was necessary to place her in the asylum. 

She clung so closely tO' little Eva that she was permitted to 
take her with her, for with all her madness, she never mis- 
treated Eva, and her great fear was that her husband, would 
take Eva from her or do' her harm in some way, as he had 
often threatened to take her back and raise money on her 
from her parents. 

Eva and Mrs. Martin were placed together in the asylum 
at Pueblo, where they were taken care of, while Jack went 
farther west. With no one to encumber him he was now free 
to do as he pleased. He soon wandered down into Arizona 
where he became a desperate and wicked man. 

For twO' years he led a lawless life under an assumed name, 
and only visited his wife at long intervals, then only to keep 
track of little Eva. Mrs. Martin would refuse to see him, 
and said he came to steal her child, and would not be quieted 


— 39 — 

until she was told that he had gone away. His visits be- 
came less frequent and she seemed to be getting better, and 
was allowed many privileges. She was not watched so closely 
and seemed to be very harmless. 

In a cell next to hers, was another lady who was placed 
there about the same time as Mrs. Martin, and they soon 
became great friends. Now, tO' explain who this lady was, 
we will have to gO' back a few years in her history. 

Some years before, a Mr. Bray, with his wife and one 
child, a little girl, were living in Denver. He had been a 
merchant but times being so^ dull and hearing of the excite- 
ment at Leadville, like many other men, he sold out his busi- 
ness and hastened to the new mining camp. He invested in 
mines and for a while prospered. His wife's health 
now failing, he returned to Denver where they re- 
mained for a short time, but her health not improv- 
ing, he was advised tq^ take her to some mineral springs, 
and hearing of the Glenwood hot springs he at once made 
preparations to take her there. At this time there were no 
railroads running to Glenwood and people had to travel by 
stage or in wagons. So Mr. Bray fitted himself out with a 
complete camping outfit, with horse and wagon, and at once 
started with his family. They found some others bound for 
the same place and so had company on their long journey. 
The mountain roads were but little traveled, and were very 
bad and dangerous in many places. It was all the horses 
could do to pull an empty wagon up some of the mountain 
sides, as heretofore nothing but horsemen had ventured over 
the roads, and many times the occupants of the wagons would 
be, obliged to get out and walk for long distances at a time. 
Mr. Bray having a good team they got along very well. Mrs. 
Bray's health began to improve as soon as they reached the 
mountains. She and her little girl Helen, who was ten years 


— 40 — 


old, would often walk and enjoy the fresh mountain air. 
They were three weeks or more on their trip. They O'ften 
camped and fished, and enjoyed the grand scenery between 
Leadville and Aspen, and down the Roaring Forks to Glen- 
wood Springs which is at the junction of the Roaring Fork 
and Grand River, both being large and vei*}^ dangerous to 
cross during the hot months, on account of the high water, 
as there were no bridges at this time and people were obliged 
to ford the Roaring Fork many times between Aspen and 
Glenwood Springs. 

On arriving at the hot springs, they found about one hun- 
dred people living in tents, as there was no houses and every- 
one had to bring their own tents. Mr. Bray having a good 
tent they were soon quite comfortably settled. The springs 
seemed to help Mrs. Bray and they soon made up their minds 
to stay as long as she improved. 

It was in the month of September, the year of 1883, and 
about forty people remained during the winter. There being 
no bath houses at that time, the people put up tents over the 
numerous hot springs and used them for bath houses. There 
was one store of general merchandise, two boarding houses, 
or rather tents, two saloons, a laundry, a bakery and a post- 
office, all in tents. The stage brought in the mail once a 
week, and once in a while a passenger who' would stay a few 
days or a week and then go away again. Now and then a 
few would get together and have a dance to pass away the 
time, while the men spent most of their time in hunting. 

Mr. Bray spent the winter in hunting deer and elk and 
occasionally a mountain lion. He hauled this game to Lead- 
ville and Aspen and sold it and thus made his living through 
the winter. 

Glenwood was in the old Ute reservation until the year 
of 1883, and the white people were not allowed to locate on 


— 41 — 


the land or build homes, but in 1883 ^^e land was thrown 
open to settlement and in the year of 1884 many families 
rushed in to get land under the Pre-emption Law, and those 
who were there in 1883 were looking for good ranches as 
they call them in the west. 

Mr. Bray located on a very good piece of land near Glen- 
wood and built him a cabin, and moved his family into it. 

Now many others began to arrive and locate in this new 
country, and soon all the land around Glenwood Springs was 
taken up, as it was the most valuable, and quite a strife was 
gotten up ^mong the settlers, as many men claimed their 
neighbor’s ranches or a part of it. The land had not been 
surveyed, and no one knew exactly where their lines were, 
and when the general survey came it caused great dissatis- 
faction among the settlers. Some had good ranches, while 
their more unfortunate neighbors had nothing worth living 
on. This caused bitter feelings, and many men were killed, 
others driven from their homes, and quite an excitement 
spread through the country. The next year a land office 
was located at Glenwood and then the contesting over the 
land began. 

Mr. Bray, like many others, was contested on his claim, and 
trouble began with him. In less than a year at least a dozen 
different men had located on his ranch and each one had 
tried to run him off. 

Those who had been good friends were now bitter ene- 
mies and every man was in danger of losing his life or having 
his home burnt tO' the ground. All this worried Mrs. Bray 
and her nervous system could not stand the strain. Soon 
her health began to fail and, worse still, her mind was be- 
coming unsettled and the threats against her husband’s life 
had driven her wild. She always imagined that some one 
was coming to kill her husband and she would get his gun 


— 42 — 


and go out tO' shoot them. Mr. Bray feared that she might 
do herself harm, sO’ he asked to- have her sent to the asylum. 
It was a hard blow on him, with all his trouble, and his little 
girl to care for, and the parting with his wife nearly broke 
his heart, while little Helen was not old enough to realize 
her loss. Mr. Bray went with his wife and saw her placed 
safely in the asylum at Pueblo, then returned tO' his desolate 
home. Soon after he won his land case, but now he could 
not enjoy it, and placing Helen with some friends in Glen- 
wood, he went to Leadville and began speculating in mines 
again. He was thus engaged when he received a telegram 
that his wife was dead. She had been two years in the asy- 
lum, but he grieved over her death for now he had no hopes 
of her getting well, as he had looked forward tO' ever since 
she had been there. He was out of town, in his mines, 
when he received the telegram, and did not get it 
for several days after it had been sent, but he hastened to 
town and sent a telegram back for them tO' keep her until he 
came for her. But before he could start he again received 
word that she had died with a malignant fever, and that 
they were obliged to* bury her at once for fear of the disease 
spreading among the rest of the inmates. 

Mr. Bray did not go- for her, as they would not allow her 
tO' be removed, and soon after he received a certificate of 
death from the official of the asylum. Then he gave up in 
dispair. But, being a strong and healthy man, he soon began 
to devote all his attention to* business. He was very lucky 
in his mining pursuits and became very wealthy. 


— 43 - 


chapter IX. 

COUNT WIUUOUGHBY R^CE^IVKS A UKTTE:r. 

The next morning after Josephine's departure, Clarence 
returned from school. He was sitting with his mother and 
little Arthur, in his mother's sitting room. The countess was 
much pleased with Clarence's success at school and was glad 
to have him with her again, while he was delighted with his 
little brother whom he had never seen before. The countess 
had forgotten all her troubles now and was enjoying the 
company of her two sons of whom she was very proud. 

Clarence was sitting with little Arthur on his knee, telling 
him some amusing little stories, when he would clap his hands 
in great glee, and the mother looked on with such a happy 
look on her beautiful face. 

The count had welcomed Clarence home with a hearty 
good cheer, and then made his usual walk down town, leaving 
his wife to enjoy the company of her son. 

But it was now late in the evening, and he had not come 
home for dinner, and they had not seen him since morning, 
and how he had spent the day his wife little dreamed, or she 
would not be sitting there so happy and contented. She had 
no idea of the cloud that was settling over her happy home. 

The count had not gone far from his own door when he 
met the postman. He asked if there was anything for him, 
and the postman handed him several letters. The count then 
returned to the house and going to his own room, was soon 
busy reading his letters. He read one after another until he 
came to one that he did not recognize the handwriting. He 
looked at it a moment in wonderment and then opened it 
and read. He was much puzzled at first, but soon became 
greatly interested. Soon the letter fell from his hands, while 
he sat and stared into vacancy for a moment and then, pick- 


— 44 — 


ing up the letter, he again read it through with great care, 
and this was what he read : 

‘^New York City, i8— . 

To the Count Willoughby. 

Sir: — You will, no doubt, be surprised when you read 
this letter, and I pity you. I am much distressed to have 
to cause you pain — one who has befriended me in so 
many ways — and to think that I will have to mar your 
seeming happy life. But I am resolved toi tell you the 
truth. As long as I was in the countess' employ I could 
not think of betraying her, but now I can no' longer shield 
her. You believe your wife to be pure and true to you, 
but she is not, and I am unfortunately a witness to her 
treachery toward you, and I can no longer keep silent, 
even if I have to lose your friendship, for I know you 
can never forgive me for keeping thisi so long from you. 
But the fear of losing a home has kept me silent, and 
now that I have lost that, I have nothing more to lose 
but your good will which, within the last few days, I 
seem to have lost. I will now tell you what I should have 
told you long ago. 

The child whom you love and cherish is not your 
son, but the son of a'poor woman, and your child is in her 
possession. Your wife has deceived you, knowing you 
wanted a son, and also wanting one herself. When her 
child proved tO' be a girl she was much disappointed, and 
wishing to please you with a son, she gave away her own 
child and received in its place the child of a scoundrel 
who has now left the City and no one knows their where^ 
abouts, unless your wife has sent them away. She may 
know where they have gone to. I have until now feared 
to expose her, but I feel it now my duty to do so. 

“If you have any doubts of my telling the truth, ask 


— 45 — 


Doctor Strong if you child was a boy, or a girl. Believe 

me as one who grieves to give you so much sorrow. 

I am truly your friend, 

Josephine Roeein."^ 

When the count read this, he could not believe it, and 
thought it some of Josephine’s spite work, and was going tO' 
destroy the letter at once. When his eye caught sight of the: 
name of Doctor Strong, he then hesitated. He then thought 
there must be something in this or she would not refer to the: 
doctor. ‘'I will see my wife about this! No; before I see her,. 
I will visit the doctor and find out what this means.” 

And hastening out he at once ordered a carriage and was* 
driven to the doctor’s office. His heart now began to beat 
wildly, and his courage began to fail. How could he allow 
anyone to make him suspicious of his wife? Could he even 
believe the doctor, should he corroborate Josephine’s story? 
Then, again, he imagined that his wife did not love little Ar- 
thur as well as she did Clarence, and often he had felt some 
jealousy arise within him, but would soon put it aside and try 
to forget it. But now he thought he must have had good 
cause. 

He had now worked himself up to great excitement, and 
when he was shown into the doctor’s room he could hardly 
stand. He was so confused he did not know how to^ begin. 
When the doctor noticed his agitation he came tO' him at once 
and said, ‘'What is it, my good sir? Is the countess ill again,, 
or is it your little daughter? I hope it is not the dear child; 
she was so delicate at her birth. I feared then that you would 
lose her.” Then, gazing at the count who was now as white 
as a corpse, he exclaimed : 

“Oh, I see, now; it is yourself!” 

The count had arisen in his excitement. 


— 46 — 


“Sit down, my good sir, and I will give you something to 
quiet your nerves, or you will have a bad spell/' 

The doctor then prepared some drink and gave it to the 
count. “Drink this and you will soon be better. You have 
had some severe shock and it has unnerved you." 

“Yes, I haye had some very bad news, which I fear will 
drive me mad!" 

“Have you lost a member of your family, or is it some 
financial affairs?" 

“No, it is neither; but I have lost that which I prized more 
than anything else in the world, and that is my wife's con- 
fidence. She has been deceiving me for years, and I have just 
found it out." 

He gazed wearily around and seemed aged in these few 
moments as he sat there. Then arising slowly and grasping 
a chair to steady himself, he said: 

“Doctor, I want to ask you a question. Are you sure my 
child was a girl? Have you not made a mistake?" 

“Mistake! My good sir, how could I? Her birth is re- 
corded in my book, my good sir. You are getting flighty; 
your medicine is affecting your brain, and I would advise 
you to go home at once and gO' to bed ; you need quiet and rest, 
or you will have a severe spell of sickness. Let me order yoqr 
carriage at once." 

He then allowed the doctor to lead him to his carriage and 
help him in, all the while looking around in a dazed sort of a 
way, and seemed speechless. Then he was driven hastily to 
his home. 

Home! What was home to him now, when she whom he 
had so passionately loved and trusted was false to him ? What 
kind of a heart had she, when she could give away her own 
child for that of a low, base born one of a stranger ? She was 
a cruel woman who could do such a thing! And this, then. 


- 4 - 7 — 


was what had made her always so distrustful of Josephine. 
She feared she might know something of her secret. 

On arriving at his home, he at once went tO' his room; then 
he put in the rest of the day in great distress. What to- do he 
did not know. How to face his wife whom he now 
no longer trusted was a great trial to him. Sometimes he 
felt like going to her at once and accusing her o-f perfidy, then 
his courage would fail him. Thus the hours went by and 
he was thinking of how he was to find his own child, and he 
must begin at once. Putting on his hat he went out and has- 
tened down the street in hopes of meeting Josephine and find- 
ing out more about the family who had taken away his child, 
and all the particulars concerning them that she could tell him. 
Not seeing her, after wandering around for some time, he 
slowly turned toward his home, when he met the woman whom 
Josephine had been guilty of talking to on the day before. He 
thought she might know where Josephine was at the present 
time, so he stopped her and inquired of Josephine’s where- 
abouts, to which the woman replied that she had gone to the 
country to visit some friends, and was seeking a new situation. 
He was unable to learn her address and so returned home. 

He began to think he had treated Josephine too harshly, and 
she had gone away without a letter of recommendation, and 
it would be hard for her to get another situation without one. 
He must find her now and make some amends for what he 
had done. 

On entering his home again his anger began to rise when 
thinking of the outrage that had been played upon him, and 
he could not stand it any longer. ‘T will face her,” he thought, 
''and tell her that I know her treachery. Then I will leave 
her. I will try to find my child, and if I succeed I will take 
her to England, and my wife shall never see her face, nor 
mine, again.” 


— 48 — 


Then, hastening to his wife’s room he rapped at her door 
and being told to enter, he gazed upon the happy group as 
we last saw them. , , , 

He looked upon the beautiful face of his wife and his heart 
sank within him. Surely it could not be possible that she was 
the deceitful being he had now proved her to be in his own 
mind. The sight of her drove him to desperation to think he 
had loved such a woman. 

His wife arose and going toward him would have embraced 
him, for now the home circle would be complete. But he 
waved her back and then spoke in a voice filled with rage and 
insulted honor. 

“Stop, woman ! How dare you approach me with your de- 
ceitful face? But speak, wretched woman, and tell me where 
my own child is — that you have discarded for that boy whom 
for four years you have made me believe was my own !” 

The countess stood aghast, her face turning a deadly palor, 
and she was clasping her hands in mental agony. 

“Oh, my husband! In the name of heaven, what dO' you 
mean; are you mad?” 

“It is enough to drive me mad, the way you have acted and 
the outrage you have committed !” 

“Oh! what have I done?” exclaimed his wife, wringing her 
hands in agonizing terror. And going toward him again was 
once more repulsed by him. 

“What have you done? You have deceived me! You have 
lied to me; you have placed the child of a scoundrel in my 
child’s place; you have been false to me and to your own child !” 

The countess fell upon her knees and begged him to^ desist 
and pleaded her innocence. “What can this mean? Oh, Ar- 
thur, listen to me, you have been deceived by some one, who 
has made this up tO' cause me trouble. Oh ! who' can it be?” 

“No one but yourself has deceived me; you are a false 


— 49 — 


and wicked woman. Go find my child — the child you gave 
away — my little daughter ! Go' find her, I say ! and until you 
do find her and place her in her rightful position, I will not 
look upon your face again V 

And turning suddenly he left the room, leaving his wife 
still kneeling with clasped hands and a look o-f wild dismay 
upon her white face. She arose slowly and turning to her 
son, exclaimed, ‘‘Oh, my son! What can this mean? This is 
indeed a terrible blow! Who could have done this? I did 
not know that I had an enemy in the world who would do 
such a thing. Go, Clarence, and find out if you can what this 
all means. Surely I have not deserved this. I have not been 
false to him or anyone else. I am innocent of the crime that 
he accuses me of. But what can I do? How can I prove my 
innocence, when he won't listen to me? Oh, help me, Clar- 
ence, or I shall go mad !" 

“Come, come, mother; do' not go in this way. There has 
been some great mistake made and who is tO' blame must be 
found out. But you must not give way in this manner. Try to 
think who would wrong you; is there anyone you have of- 
fended in any way? Surely there is some grounds for this, 
or your husband could never treat you in this way. He is 
too good and noble to* do such an act without some cause. 
Someone has been slandering you tO' him and in some way 
has made him believe this of you. Try tO' think who could 
gain such an influence over him. It looks like some woman's 
work, and a designing woman at that." 

“Oh, Clarence! could it have been Josephine?" 

“Josephine! And who is Josephine?" 

“My servant, whom we discharged yesterday. Oh, I had 
forgotten that you have never met her. She was an old ac- 
quaintance of my husband's and she came here to America 
to hunt work, and we gave her the position of nursery maid. 


— 50 — 


to take care of little Arthur, and of late she has been neglect- 
ing him and it has caused us much worry, and yesterday my 
husband became so enraged at her conduct that he discharged 
her, and now we are without a nurse for Arthur. But it does 
not seem possible that she would do such a thing, and why 
would my husband believe anything that she might say, know- 
ing that she was mad at him over her discharge?"’ 

“So that is who Josephine is. Well, I have no doubt she 
is the woman who is giving you all this trouble. My dear 
mother, did you ever, during her stay, notice anything that 
looked suspicious in her actions toward your husband ?” . 

“No, Clarence; that is” — and the countess blushed with 
shame. How could she have any suspicions against her hus- 
band? She loved him toO' well. “There was a time when I 
thought that she might have thought too much of my hus- 
band, and that he might have given her cause to* do so* before 
he ever met me, but I never saw anything in his actions that 
justified such a suspicion, so I hastily dismissed it from my 
mind.” 

“That was right, dear mother, but perhaps if you had 
watched her more closely you would have been justified in 
your suspicions toward her and this trouble would have been 
avoided. But we must make the best of it now, and find out 
for sure if it is her work; and I must see the count and get him 
to explain the meaning of this accusation. You had better 
retire, mother, as it is now very late and Arthur has fallen 
asleep on the sofa. I will carry him to his room.” And tak- 
ing him up in his arms very gently he started out of the room, 
while his mother followed as if in a dream, for the cruel words 
of her husband were ringing in her ears and her brain seemed 
on fire. 

“Now, mother, don’t worry; this will come out all right. 
I know you are innocent and will prove you so before many 


-Si- 


hours. Now, go to bed and rest, and I will find the count and, 
no doubt, will soon have a reconciliation between you.’’ 

Thus leaving his mother, after kissing her fondly, he went 
out to seek the count. 


CHAPTER X. 

AT THE ASYIvUM. 

Mrs. Martin seemed to have a great liking for Mrs. Bray, 
and they were often together, both being harmless and quiet. 
They were allowed to visit each other at will ; their cells were 
joining each other, and they spent most of their time together. 
Mrs. Bray’s trouble was that she imagined someone was com- 
ing to kill her and her husband, and when any visitors came 
to the asylum she would run to her cell screaming, ‘‘They have 
come, they have come! They will kill us! Oh, save us; help! 
help!” And not for some time after they were gone would 
she become reconciled. It was the trouble over their home that 
had driven her crazy. Thus, for two years she had been in 
the asylum with Mrs. Martin for a companion, wandering 
about the grounds together. At first a constant watch was 
put over them, but now they were so quiet and harmless, they 
were allowed to visit each other’s cells and spend hours to- 
gether undisturbed. 

Some times Mrs. Bray would spend whole days in Mrs. 
Martin’s room, and again Mrs. Martin and Eva would be 
in Mrs. Bray’s room. No notice was taken of this only at 
evening the turnkey would come and lock them in for the 
night in their own cells. Eva soon became attached to Mrs. 
Bray and was as satisfied with her as with Mrs. Martin, and 
Mrs. Bray often imagining her to be Helen, would call herself 


— 52 — 


mamma to her, and Eva soon got in the habit of calling them 
both mamma. 

For two years Eva had been constantly with them both and 
she regarded them both with the same love. 

One day Mrs. Martin was in Mrs. Bray’s cell when she 
became suddenly very ill. She lay down upon Mrs. Bray’s 
cot. All da}" she grew worse. Mrs. Bray did not know enough 
to call assistance, and thought her only asleep. When their 
meals were brought Mrs. Bray took them and she and Eva 
ate theirs, but Mrs. Martin could not eat anything and soon 
lay down again and soon became unconscious. Mrs. Bray, 
thinking her asleep, took little Eva and went into Mrs. Mar- 
tin’s cell for the night. When the turnkey came to lock them 
in for the night, as usual, he found them both asleep as he 
supposed, and did not disturb them. 

On the same day new officers had been appointed and were 
being installed in their new offices, and the new turnkey was 
making his visit around with the former turnkey who ex- 
plained to the new officer whoi the twO' women were whO' 
occupied these two cells, but he was not aware of the change 
and did not disturb them. 

The next morning the new officers were all in their places and 
began their rounds of investigation. On coming to Mrs. 
Bray’s cell they found the inmate unconscious and tried to 
awaken her, but to their amazement found that she was dead. 
They supposed, of course, that it was Mrs. Bray, when look- 
ing over the register they found that No. 6 was Mrs. L. Bray 
of Glenwood Springs; also the date of her arrival at the 
asylum. No. 7 was Mrs. Martin of Fairplay. They at once 
sent for the doctor and found that No. 6 had died of a malig- 
nant fever and ordered that she be buried at once to prevent 
it spreading among the other inmates. 


— 53 — 


A dispatch was sent at once to Mr. Bray of Glenwood, 
who, being" at Leadville at the time, did not receive it until 
after the burial, it then being too late for him to see her and 
it was not thought advisable to move her on account of the 
infectious disease. 

Mrs. Bray, whom they now believed tO' be Mrs. Martin, and 
Eva were moved at once to another cell, for fear of their tak- 
ing the fever. 

Mrs. Bray, being so quiet and gaining so fast, they thought 
it a good idea to send her tO' her husband, so' word was sent 
tO' Mr. Martin to come and get his wife and child, as she was 
well enough to be discharged from the asylum, and the sooner 
she was taken away, the less risks she would run on account 
of the fever. 

Jack Martin came at once for his wife. He was about to 
make a trip to Arizona and was now making arrangements 
with another man and his wife to gO' together. They were 
to start that same day. 

But when Jack came for his wife he was very much sur- 
prised to find in her stead another lady whom they all be- 
lieved to be his wife. They had not asked Mrs. Bray any 
questions, and she did not even know that Mrs. Martin was 
dead. Jack Martinc found that even little Eva believed Mrs. 
Bray to be her own mother and he was at a loss as to what 
to do, but being a man of quick thought he soon made up his 
mind to^ take her away as his wife — anything to have some- 
one to care for little Eva. He then told Mrs. Bray that he was 
going tO' take her home, she being in a dazed condition could 
not understand and made nO' resistance, while he hastened 
to the officials and told them that he would go for a carriage 
and take his wife and child away at once. He then hastened 
to his friend, Jim Rainor, and told him that he and his wife 
and little girl would accompany them on their trip tO' Ari- 


— 54 — 


zona. He told them that his wife was not entirely cured but 
he thought the trip would do her good, and with Mrs. Rainor 
with her he thought there would be no trouble. 

Mrs. Rainor hesitated at first and did not like the idea 
of caring for a crazy person, but her husband, seeing a chance 
to make money out of Jack Martin in caring for his wife and 
child, soon persuaded Mrs. Rainor to* consent. Jack prom- 
ised them a handsome sum for their trouble for his wife and 
child. She took quite a fancy to Mrs. Bray, who seemed so 
quiet and sad that her heart went out to her at once, and the 
little girl was such a lovely child that she could not help loving 
her, while Eva seemed pleased with her new friend, and a 
promised ride on the cars. They were all soon seated in the 
carriage and were hastening to the depot where they found 
Jim Rainor waiting for them. They soon entered the cars 
and were on their way to their new destination. It was a long 
journey and very tedious to the ladies, as they had to travel 
a part of the way by stage, and by the time they arrived in 
Arizona, Mrs. Bray was quite ill. They soon settled in a log 
cabin, as the little settlement consisted of only a few rude 
huts for dwellings. 

There was a small store which was also the postofhce, a 
large log cabin which they called the court house and also 
did duty as a jail when some of the miners imbibed too* freely 
of the fire-water. The sheriff lived in a small cabin near by. 
It being a new mining camp there were about fifty miners in 
the surrounding country, as it had only lately been open to 
settlement, and in fact at the present time the Indians were 
often troublesome, and the large log cabin was built more for 
a fort than for anything else, as the windows were heavily 
barred more for the protection from the outside than the 
holding anyone inside. It was divided into several rooms 
and had rude beds made of polls, and a few camp stools. It 


— 55 — 


was a gloomy place at best and was not used very often. A 
blacksmith shop and a small rude hut where hung as rude a 
sign of liquors, tobacco and miners’ clothing. Here was where 
the miners loafed on an evening and after pay day, which only 
came once in several months. Then some would gO' on a 
spree and at such times the jail would be occupied for a night 
or two, but as a usual thing it was a very quiet place. 

' The mines were principally coal and run by a large com- 
pany on the outside and only once in a long while they would 
send a man to pay up the men and send in supplies for camp. 
As the cars did not come within a hundred miles of the camp, 
there ^were but few visitors. A few of the miners had their 
families with them but there was only a dozen altogether in 
the camp. 

The little camp was surrounded with high rugged moun- 
tains on all sides and the little village was completely cut 
off from the rest of the world. 

The stage, or rather freight wagon, came in about once 
a month and brought the mail, but few took papers or corres- 
ponded with the outside world. 

Surely Jack Martin could not have found a more secluded 
spot in the west to hide his family, and this suited him. Here 
he could leave Mrs. Bray and Eva in Mrs. Rainor’s care while 
he could go away and lead the life that suited him, and there 
was no fear of his secret being found out. He was now in a 
scheme with Jim Rainor to rob a mail train and pretended to 
be prospectors in search of mines, when in hiding from the 
officers of the law. 

Mrs. Rainor was in ignorance of her husband’s occupation, 
and in truth believed him tO' be only a prospector. As soon 
as they were comfortably settled Jack and Jim started out 
on their usual trip, leaving Mrs. Bray and Eva with Mrs. 


— 56 — 


Rainor. Thus two years went by with but few changes in 
the camp. 

Jim Rainor made frequent visits to his wife and brought 
her money from Jack Martin, who had not been in the camp 
since his departure, but sent money enough to amply satisfy 
Mrs. Rainor for her care of Mrs. Bray and Eva, while he 
visited Denver or some other large city to get rid of his stolen 
booty, and prepare for another raid, while Jim would return 
to his wife, and find out how things were going on at the 
camp. 

Mrs. Bray's health was getting better, but she seemed no 
better in mind; she spent the most of her time with little 
Eva wandering about the mountains. She was much re- 
spected by all of the miners, and they all pitied her for they 
knew her mind was under a cjoud. When they called her 
Mrs. Martin, she would always correct them, and say she was 
Mrs. Bray, and not Mrs. Martin, to which they would shake 
their heads and say, '‘poor woman, she imagines she is the 
lady who died at the asylum," as Mrs. Rainor had told them 
about it and how she could not convince her that she was 
Mrs. Martin; and they would not question her any more. And 
so she passed her time with the children of the camp, gath- 
ering berries, or caring for the little children when their moth- 
ers we:re ill or, busy, and in this way she soon won many 
friends among the miners and their wives. Mrs. Rainor had 
no trouble watching Mrs. Bray now and did not need to be 
SO' particular with her, as little Eva was now six years old 
and could look after her mamma. She was a beautiful child 
and had grown up in the mountains like a wild flower. Her 
education was sadly neglected, but she was bright and witty, 
while dressed in a plain gingham dress and bare feet, and 
long beautiful curls were as a usual thing a mass of tangled 
hair hanging to her waist. Mrs. Rainor often threatened to 


— 57 — 


cut it off, but little Eva would beg so to keep her hair, as 
though it would hurt her to have it cut. • Then Mrs. Bray 
would fondle and comb her beautiful hair until Mrs. Rainor 
would let it remain. So with no other adornment but her 
beautiful face and lovely hair she was the pet of the camp. 

Jim Rainor, finding everything going on smoothly at home, 
soon bade -his wife good-bye and started again on a trip out 
in the mountains, where he expected to find Jack Martin as 
usual ready for another raid on some unsuspecting party. 


— 58 — 


CHAPTER XL 

MISS JOSIE lee. 

While living in Leadville, Mr. Bray became acquainted with 
a lady who called herself Miss Josie Lee, whom he often met 
at the house of a friend. Mr. Bray was a very attractive man, 
and now being a widower and very wealthy, he was much 
sought after in the matrimonial market; but, until now, he had 
paid no attention to any lady more than natural courtesy de- 
manded. Miss Lee was also very attractive and had been a 
very handsome woman, but trouble of some kind had caused 
her to become somewhat aged looking, although she was yet 
young, being between twenty-five and thirty. She seemed 
to have plenty of money and was also speculating in mines, 
and became at once interested in Mr. Bray, while he thought 
her a very bright business woman, a good conversationalist 
and he liked her very much and would often seek her society. 
Miss Lee had often heard Mr. Bray speak in such glowing 
terms of the beauty of Glenwood that she was resolved to 
make it a visit. So when Mr. Bray was going to make Helm 
a visit, she expressed a desire to go with him. Mr. Bray read- 
ily invited her to go and expressed his pleasure in her society 
on the trip. She was much pleased with the invitation and 
accepted it at once. Not being acquainted with anyone in 
Glenwood she felt safe in visiting it in company with Mr. 
Bray. 

On arriving at Glenwood she at once took rooms at the 
Hotel Glenwood, it being the only first-class hotel in town at 
this time. 

Soon after she became acquainted with Helen and was 
greatly attached toward her and often went out walking or 
riding with her. 


— 59 — 


Glenwood, at this time, was greatly improved to what it 
was when Mr. Bray had first come to- it, there now being a 
large, handsome stone bath house and a large swimming pool 
which was surrounded with a lovely green lawn and shade 
trees on all sides, with walks through the grounds bordered 
with flowers. Several fountains were scattered through the 
grounds and altogether it was a beautiful place. The State 
bridge crossing the Grand River was in length nine hundred 
and twenty feet, made of iron and steel with a roadway six- 
teen feet wide, two sidewalks six feet wide each, and its height 
being fifty-five feet above the river. This made a grand 
prominade and of an afternoon and evening hundreds could 
be seen walking to and frO' on this grand thoroughfare. 

Helen was now seventeen years of age — a beautiful girl 
with large blue eyes and dark auburn hair which hung in 
well-trained curls half way to her waist. She was very proud 
and sensitive and dressed very stylishly and being reserved in 
her ways it was hard for some to understand her. Being 
robbed of a mother's love, she was slow in making friends with 
anyone, but when her confidence was once gained it was hard 
to break. She attended church regularly, was a constant at- 
tendant at Sunday school, and a member of the society called 
the King's Daughters of which she was the president. Being 
an active member in many charitable deeds, she was well liked 
by all of her acquaintances. 

Miss Lee soon won the confidence of Helen and they be- 
came good friends. Helen being an excellent swimmer she 
undertook to teach Miss Lee how to swim, and they were often 
in the pool together; in fact, they were seldom apart. Miss 
Lee was taking advantage of the opportunity of learning to 
swim, and also of winning Helen's confidence. 

Mr. Bray often took Helen for a ride and Miss Lee was 
always invited, which invitations she never refused. 


— 60 — 


The summer was now nearly gone, and Mr. Bray had built 
him a handsome residence on his place, and was now prepar- 
ing to gO' to housekeeping, to Helen's delight. She was tired 
of boarding out, and longed to have a home of her own, and 
have her father with her. So in furnishing the new home 
Miss Lee was always present to advise Helen in what to choose, 
and she being ignorant of such things, would always leave 
it to Miss Lee, and in so doing the result was that the house 
was furnished in a most extravagant and grand style. Miss 
Lee was a good judge of furniture, and one could see at a 
glance that she was used tO' having the best around her, for she 
showed excellent taste in her choice for draperies and such 
things, and Mr. Bray was delighted in having someone that 
could direct and arrange his beautiful home. He being very 
wealthy he did not spare anything that would beautify and 
adorn his home. Everything being now complete he began 
to look for servants. He found plenty of common servants 
but could not get a housekeeper who would suit, so was de- 
layed in going to housekeeping for some time, and Helen was 
very much disappointed. 

At last Miss Lee proffered her services, consenting, to keep 
house for them until they could get one that suited. This 
pleased both Mr. Bray and Helen, and they at once moved 
into their new home. 

Mr. Bray was now contented and Helen was perfectly ha|)py. 
Things went on in this way for some time, and Mr. Bray d»d 
not look for another housekeeper. But this did not suit Miss 
Lee. She had higher aims than that of a common house- 
keeper, and not being obliged to work for her living she did 
not want to be considered a servant, and she made up her 
mind to be mistress of the house or nothing. 

She reminded Mr. Bray that he had better be getting a 
housekeeper, as she could not stay much longer; but he would 


— 61 — 


neglect doing so, and she found her scheme was not advanc- 
ing and she was determined to make some change. 

One evening Helen had gone tO' the pool and Miss Lee 
complained of not feeling well, so remained at home. Mr. 
Bray was sitting reading in his library, and as soon as Helen 
was gone, she went straight tO' Mr. Bray. She knocked gently 
on the door and he told her tO' come in. 

‘‘Oh, it’s you. Miss Lee. I thought you were with Helen at 
the pool this evening.” 

“I did not feel well and thought best to stay at home, and 
I wished to speak to you again in regard to* a housekeeper. 
Have you found one?” 

“Why, no; I am sorry you wish to go* away; I am sure we 
try to make it pleasant for you here.” 

“Oh, yes; it is pleasant enough, but I dO' not wish to be a 
servant.” 

“A servant, indeed! Are you not privileged to do as you 
please? I do not ask you to work — just to look after the ser- 
vants and be a companion to Helen. I hope you are not 
tired of us.” 

“No, I am not tired of you, but it is unpleasant to be looked 
upon as a servant when I am your equal. You know your 
friends treat me as a servant, and I can remain no longer in 
that capacity.” 

“But what can I do?” exclaimed Mr. Bray in great dis- 
may, for he did not want to give her up; she had managed 
the house so well, and his dinners under her skillful manage- 
ment had always proved a grand success, and now invitations 
were out for a dinner in honor of some Leadville friends, and 
how could he get anyone to fill her place in so short a time; and 
would they do as well ? He arose and paced the room in great 
excitement. If he could only get her to stay a while longer; 
but he had put her of¥ in this manner several times. What 


— 62 — 


could he say now ? 

^‘Can I not persuade you to stay a while longer — say a 
month — and then I surely will find a housekeeper in that 
time?’' 

‘‘That is what you have said several times, and you have * 
no one yet, I might as well gO' one time as another.” 

“But why do you have to go? Why not stay as a friend 
and companion tO' Helen? You need not be a servant as you 
choose to term it; but stay as a friend.” 

“My dear sir, ladies do not stay in the house of unmarried 
gentlemen, especially unmarried ladies. While I remain as 
a servant it is all right, but when I am nO' longer in that 
position it is my duty to leave, unless there was some higher 
position that I might fill.” 

“Some higher position? Yes, I see now what you mean. 
Why could I not see it before? Surely I have placed you in 
a strange position. My dear Miss Lee, forgive me for being 
so blind to my own interests; and if you will accept a higher 
position in my house I will gladly ofifer it to you.” 

Miss Lee, not exactly understanding what he meant, asked 
him to explain what position he wished her to fill. 

“Why, the position of mistress and my wife!” 

Miss Lee tried tO' appear surprised, but this was what she 
wanted all the time, and schemed from the beginning of their 
acquaintance. It was not really the love of Mr. Bray so much 
as for his wealth and position in society she had wished to 
gain. She had lain her plans well and had succeeded and was 
now satisfied. 

“My dear Mr. Bray, are you sure you wish this? Do not 
let the thought of losing me as a housekeeper cause you to 
commit an act that you will afterward regret. As for me, 

I shall be much pleased tO' accept your offer.” 

“Then it is understood between us, and as soon as it is 


— 63 — 


convenient to you we will be married.’’ 

‘'Very well; any time that it suits you will suit me.” And 
before she could say more, voices were heard in the adjoin- 
ing room, for Helen had returned, and was coming to the 
library to bid her father good-night. 

On opening the door she beheld Miss Lee. She started back 
in surprise. 

“Come in, child,” exclaimed her father. “Let me present 
to you your future mamma.” And taking Miss Lee by the 
hand, led her forward. 

“Miss Lee has promised to be my wife and from this time 
on she will be mistress of my house. I hope you will con- 
tinue to love and respect her, and in her I know you will find 
a kind and loving mamma. I will now bid you both good- 
night, as it is getting late.” And he followed them to the 
door and gently closed it after them. 

Mr. Bray sat long into the night thinking over what he 
had done. He thought he had acted for the best. Helen would 
always have someone to look after her, as she was now at 
the age when she needed a mother’s, care, and she being so 
fond of Miss Lee he felt that she would be satisfied. 

Helen had made no comment when he had told her of his 
intended marriage, and he also remembered now that she had 
not offered her usual good-night kiss, but he felt that his own 
embarrassment also had something to do with it. 

It was nearly morning before he went to bed, and then he 
could not sleep, and when called to breakfast he had not 
closed his eyes in sleep; but he arose at once and came down 
to breakfast. Helen was there waiting for him. Miss Lee 
had sent word that she would not be down. 

Helen and her father ate their breakfast in silence, for 
neither felt in a humor for talking. When they were through 


— 64 — 


Helen followed him tO' the library. Then Helen went up to 
him and said : 

''Father, allow me to congratulate you. I most sincerely 
hope that you will be happy.’’ 

"Thank you, Helen.” And turning away she could see he 
did not wish tO' talk on the subject, sO' quietly left the room. 

Mr. Bray soon went out and she did not see him again 
that day. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CIvARKNCD AND HIS MOTHER. 

Clarence went to the count’s room; he stood for a moment 
to collect his thoughts. All was quiet within. He rapped, 
but there was no answer. He then sought a servant and made 
inquiries and learned that the count had gone out immediately 
after leaving his wife’s room. Clarence did not know what 
to do; he knew that he could not find the count that night, 
so he returned to his mother. 

He found her walking to and fro and wringing her hands 
in great distress. On seeing Clarence she eagerly exclaimed, 
"Well, did you see him ?” 

"No, mother; he has gone out. I will see him in the morn- 
ing, as he will, no doubt, then be in a better humor to listen 
to what I might have to say.” 

"Oh, where can he have gone? I am afraid that I shall 
never see him again, for he must be mad. I must see the 
doctor; we must find him to-night; I am afraid he will do 
himself harm !” 

"Well, mother; I will go again and try to find him, but I 
fear it is of no use to go tonight, but to please you I will try.” 

He then went out again and spent hours in hunting the 


— 65 — 


club rooms and the count’s favorite haunts, but could hear 
nothing of him. It was nearly morning when he returned 
without any news of the count. His mother had spent the 
night in great distress. She would not go to bed, and Clar- 
ence left her and went to his room to get a little rest before 
breakfast. But he did not rest long before he was called, and 
he then dressed and ate his breakfast alone, as his mother had 
not yet appeared. He then went out again to seek the count. 
He knew that his mother would not rest until she had some 
word of him. 

He was walking very briskly along when a newsboy pushed 
a paper in front of him and asked him to buy one. Clarence 
took one and handed him his money, then hastened on, glanc- 
ing over the paper as he went along. Soon his eyes rested 
on the following notice of departure : 

‘‘The Count Willoughby departed for England at six 

o’clock this morning, pressing business being the cause. 

No particulars could be ascertained.” 

Clarence need not look for him any farther, and he re- 
turned to his mother in a very distressed state of mind, for 
now there could be no explanations, and how to help his 
mother he could npt think. 

He then made up his mind to find Josephine, and with this 
thought he returned to his mother, who, on learning of the 
count’s departure, was wild with grief and would not be 
reconciled. Clarence tried to find out from his mother where 
Josephine’s friends were, in hopes of learning from them 
where he might find Josephine. But his mother could not tell 
him anything, only that Josephine had some acquaintances that 
she had objected to and told him of the woman that Josephine 
had been talking to on the day of her going away. 

Clarence went out at once to find the woman. From her 
he learned that Josephine had gone out into the country to 


— 66 — 


visit some friends and would return in a few days. He then 
made up his mind to wait until she returned, as he could 
not learn just where she had gone. He was beginning to get 
discouraged, and was returning home when he overtook the 
doctor just at the door. They went in together. Clarence, not 
knowing him, did not say anything to him but led him into 
the parlor, where the doctor, looking at him very closely, ex- 
claimed, ‘‘Is this the countess’ son who has just returned home 
from school?” 

Clarence told him he was, and asked what he could do for 
him: 

‘‘I came to see the count. I am a doctor, and the count 
was in my office yesterday and was sick. I gave him some 
medicine and I have come this morning to see how he is get- 
ting along. Yesterday I thought him quite out of his mind, 
and I have been very uneasy about him.’^ 

Clarence then told him that the count had gone away the 
night before and that they had not known anything about it. 
He then told him that he would call his mother at once, and 
he hastened away to his mother’s room. 

So this was the cause of their trouble! The count was 
crazy. There was nothing in the wild ravings against his 
mother, only wild imaginations of a diseased brain. Somehow 
he felt relieved on his mother’s account, although it would 
be a terrible blow to her to know that the count had gone 
mad, yet he felt glad to know that there was no cause for the 
terrible accusations against his mother. 

He hurried into his mother’s room and told her of the 
doctor’s presence. She hastened down and going up to him 
exclaimed in great agitation, ‘‘Oh, doctor! I am so glad you 
have come. I am about distracted. Have you seen my hus- 
band lately? I am driven to believe that he is not in his 
right mind.” 


— 67 — 


‘‘Well, my dear lady, that is about what I thought when 
he came to my office yesterday/' 

“What! Did he come to you? Then surely he was sick, 
and I did not know it. He has not said anything to me, but 
what made you think that he was not in his right mind ?" 

“O, by the questions he asked, and the way he acted after 
I had answered them." 

“What were the questions he asked ?" exclaimed the countess 
in surprise. 

“Why, he asked me if I was sure his baby was a girl, just 
as though he had been thinking it a boy, and when I told 
him I was positive it was a girl, why he nearly fell to the 
floor, and I believe he would have done so if I had not caught 
him and made him sit down." 

It was now the countess’ turn to stare at him as though 
she thought him demented. 

“What do you mean by saying our child was a girl ?" 

“Nothing only but the truth. What is the matter with you? 
I believe you, too, have lost your senses! Surely you do not 
pretend it is a boy?" 

The countess then turned to Clarence, who stood as if 
paralyzed, he had heard every word they had said, and surely 
his mother was not pretending now, for she was as white as a 
statue. 

“Oh, Clarence! what does this mean? Has the doctor 
turned against me, and is saying this to ruin me?" 

“My dear madam!" exclaimed the doctor, “I have not 
turned against you; I am as good a friend as you could wish 
for. Tell me what I can do for you." For now he believed 
the count’s trouble had indeed unbalanced her mind. 

“Do for me? Oh, do not say my baby was a girl, for I 
have been led to believe it was a boy all these years." 

“Is this true?" exclaimed the doctor, turning to Clarence 


— 68 — 


as if to see if he too was mad. 

^‘Yes, doctor, my mother has a little boy who- is now four 
years old, whom I have always believed to be my little brother.’’ 

‘‘Can it be possible, my dear lady, that you have believed it 
to be your own and have never krtown different?” 

^‘As I hope for life, I am perfectly ignorant of my own child 
being a girl, and have always believed it to be the boy I now 
have.” 

‘‘Well, well! this is indeed a mystery; there has been a 
great deception played upon you by some one. Where is your 
nurse and maid? They surely can straighten this.” 

The countess then told him of the maid’s discharge, and that 
she did not know where either she or the nurse were at the 
present time, which greatly puzzled the doctor for he now be- 
lieved them both to be the guilty parties. ^ He advised the 
countess to find them if possible, and place them under arrest. 

The more the countess thought it over, the more she believed 
Josephine to be the guilty party, and how much the nurse 
was implicated she could not guess. But she was satisfied that 
Josephine knew all about it. 

Many little circumstances she could recall to mind wherein 
she had thought that Josephine had acted very queer, when 
fondling her babe and making so much of it, she would notice 
such a strange look come over the face of Josephine. She had 
let it pass, and never gave it a second thought. But now it all 
came back to her, and she wondered that she could have let 
it go by without some suspicions. 

After finding out that her husband had gone and left her, 
believing her guilty, she was almost wild, and would have fol- 
lowed him if it had not been for Clarence, who persuaded her 
to stay and find her child if possible. His mother at last con- 
sented to help find the nurse and see what they might learn 
from hen 


— 69 — 


After several weeks of steady searching, she was found in 
a remote village following her occupation as nurse. 

The countess did not believe the nurse guilty but thought 
she might help her to find her own child. So she at once made 
the nurse a visit, and telling her the circumstances, filled her 
with great consternation as it would hurt her reputation 
if this was known to the public. She pleaded her innocence 
and asked to be questioned before the doctor, who soon came 
and they had a long talk. 

The doctor remembered giving the child to Josephine in- 
stead of the nurse, and was now satisfied that she alone was 
the guilty one. The nurse was then excused from all doubts, 
and was allowed to go unmolested without suspicion. 

The countess was now again in the dark. She could find 
no traces of Josephine, and began to think that she had returned 
to England, where her husband had now gone. 

She was almost sure now that Josephine had done all this 
to separate her and her husband and she had succeeded at last. 

The count had gone away believing her guilty and no doubt 
in her mind now but Josephine had gone with him. If she 
could make him believe his wife guilty of such a deed, what 
could she not make him believe? 

Perhaps her child was in England and they had both gone 
to it. If this was true, well she knew that her happiness was 
gone forever. 

Thoughts of her husband being with Josephine filled her 
with despair, and had it not been for Clarence e\^er ready 
to console her, she would no doubt have done something very 
desperate. 

One day Clarence came in with a woman who said that she 
knew Josephine and the Martin family. Also that she was 
with Mrs. Martin at the birth of her child, and that it was a 
boy, and she had also heard at the same time that the countess 


—To- 


had given birth to a child the same night, but she knew nothing 
of the changing of the babies. The Martin family had left 
soon after and she did not know where they had gone. She 
knew they claimed to have come from England, and that Mrs. 
Martin was well connected with the higher class, but her hus- 
band being a low scoundrel could not live with her people, 
but she thought that they might have returned to England. 

This being all the information that she could give, the count- 
ess then made her a present of a sum of money and, she then 
took her leave. Clarence and his mother were at their wits' 
ends and could not think of what to dO' next. 

They were satisfied now that it was the Martin family that 
they must find, and they had no doubts but that it was the 
Martins' child that they had and the Martins had the countess' 
little daughter but how to find them was a hard task for they 
had been gone now four years and they had never heard about 
them. 

They were satisfied that Josephine knew, but where was 
Josephine? Surely she had covered her footsteps and left no 
traces behind her. 

The countess was pleased to think that little Arthur was of 
good family, if only on his mother's side of the family, 
and she resolved to give him a good education. 

She was compelled to believe that he was not her own, but 
she loved him just the same, and placing him in the care of 
a good governess, she and Clarence made preparations for 
a long and extensive trip in search of her own child. 

They were about to start, when they saw by the newspapers 
that the Count Willoughby had fallen heir to a large estate 
and also the title of Baron Walton. 

This pleased the countess, for, although she was separated 
from him, she was still his wife and could go by his name. 


— 71 — 


Thus she became the Baroness and as such was soon recog- 
nized by all. 

Clarence was very proud of his beautiful mother, and they 
had managed it_so> quietly about their trouble that but few 
knew anything about it, and thus they started out on their 
long and tedious search for their child, with but a very little 
clue to go by. With wealth to start with they were determined 
to let nothing go that would aid them in their search. 


CHAPTER XIII. 
the: train wrkcke:rs. 

The stage had just arrived, and word was brought to the 
sheriff, that there had been a terrible train wreck; several 
passengers were killed. The mail had been robbed and the 
robbers had made their escape. They were being closely fol- 
lowed and were supposed to be in hiding in the mountains near 
the Arizona mining camp, where they had lost track of them. 
A party of men were still hunting them. 

This news caused great excitement in the little coal camp ; 
men stood around and conversed in crowds. There had been 
no new-comers ,and they all felt above suspicion, and ovx- 
iously waited the arrival of the officers that they might learn 
more of the wreck. 

The sheriff had been notified to watch all comers and gi ers 
from the camp, but there had not as yet been any strangers 
made their appearance. 

The coal miners had long suspicioned Jack Martin and Jim 
Rainor as not being just as they pretended, but not knowing 
anything against them, they said nothing of their suspicions. 

But now the sheriff was watching the cabin of Mrs. Rainor, 
who was all unconscious of any thoughts of suspicion toward 


— 72 — 


her. She was as ignorant of her husband’s career as anyone 
in the camp. 

Several days had passed and nothing more had been heard 
from the ofificers, and everything fell back into its usual quiet 
way, the sheriff was keeping a close watch on the cabin of 
Mrs. Rainor, who had been at work all day, as usual, and w as 
now sitting quietly knitting, while Mrs. Bray and Eva were 
fast asleep in their cot in the corner of the one room which 
they all slept in, Mrs. Rainor having a cot by herself. 

It was now getting quite late and Mrs. Rainor was about 
to put out her light and retire for the night, when she was sur- 
prised by a gentle tapping on her door. On going to it, she de- 
manded who was there, and to her astonishment she heard 
her name spoken in the voice of her husband. 

‘‘Open the door quickly !” he cried in a hurried whisper. 

Mrs. Rainor being so surprised opened it wide, and there be- 
held the forms of her husband and Jack Martin, who' came in 
hurriedly and closed the door behind them and locked it. , 

Mrs. Rainor, who was so bewildered with this strange action, 
stood gazing at them in amazement. They were heavily armed. 
Placing their guns in easy reach, they sat down at the table, 
while Jim, turning to his wife, said in a hurried, frightened 
tone : 

“Bring us something to eat ; we are nearly starved ; we have 
had nothing to eat for three days.” 

Mrs. Rainor hurriedly placed upon the table everything she 
had cooked in the house, and they began to- eat in a very hungry 
manner. 

We will now return to the sheriff, who we have said had been 
watching the cabin for several days, and every night a watch 
was placed, so as to see if anyone entered the cabin at night. 
He sat alone in his little office joining the jail and was busy 
thinking over the actions of the two men — Jim Rainor and 


— 73 — 


Jack Martin — when a rap was heard at the door. He arose 
and opened it and to his surprise there stood two strangers. He 
stepped back and placing his hand on his revolver demanded 
what they wanted. He knew they had not come on the stage, 
and why were they there at that time of night? * 

He was soon informed that they were detectives in search 
of the train robbers, whom they had traced to that vicinity, 
and wanted the help of the sheriff and a few men. ^fhe}" 
thought the robbers must live in the camp and might visit their 
homes in the night. They asked the sheriff if any of their 
neighbors were away from their homes. 

The sheriff then told them of Jack Martin and Jim Rainor. 
The detectives were convinced that these were the men they 
were looking for. While they were talking, the guard came 
up and told the sheriff of the twO' men he had just seen enter 
Mrs. Rainor’s cabin. The sheriff then called a few men to^ 
gether and th^y all returned with the guard, and going stealthily 
up to the door, could hear the two men talking within. 

‘Well, what do you think. Jack? Are we safe here?’' 

‘T am not so sure. We have been tracked very closely. One 
thing, we cannot starve, and will have to run the risks anyway.” 

“Yes, that is so. If we starve ourselves until we are too 
weak to travel, they will then get us, sure. 

“My God ! but I am tired ! but will we dare to sleep tonight ?” 
exclaimed Jack Martin, as he rubbed hisiimbs as though they 
pained him. “Now that I have enough to eat, I can scarcely 
raise from my chair.” 

“Well, I am going to take a rest anyway,” exclaimed Jim 
Rainor, taking out his pipe and beginning to fill it. “Here, 
give me a match, will you?” he said, turning to his wife, who 
stood staring at the two men in surprise. 

“Make haste! I am almost dead for a smoke.” Then, turn- 
ing to- Jack, “You had better take a smoke too, for we don’t 


— 74 — 


know when we will have another chance, and we might as 
well make the best of this.” 

Jack lit his pipe, and both men smoked in silence for a few 
moments. Jim was about to make a remark when a loud 
knock was heard at the door. 

. Both men leaped to their feet, and grasped their guns. 

'‘Who is there?” demanded Jim Rainor, in a husky voice. 

"We are officers of the law ! Open this door and surrender !” 

"Never!” cried both men. "We will not be taken alive!” 

"We will break down the door if you will not open it!” ex- 
claimed the sheriff. 

"Then you, will have to break it down!” exclaimed Jim, 
standing with his gun, ready tO' fire. 

There was a loud crash, and the door fell in; at the same 
instant a loud report and both men had emptied theirs guns into 
the crowd. Several more shots came in rapid succession, and 
Jim Rainor fell with a groan at the feet of his wife. Then Jack 
staggered back and fell to- the floor. A loud, piercing shriek 
rang through the room, that almost curdled the blood in the 
veins of those who heard it, as Mrs. Bray, springing from 
her bed, rushed madly about the room, giving one scream after 
another. "They have come; they have come! They have mur- 
dered my husband ! Oh, help ! help!” then fell to the floor in a 
swoon by the side of Jack Martin. 

Little Eva, who was awakened by the noise, sprang from her 
bed and followed Mrs. Bray, screaming with fright. Mrs. 
Bray lay upon the floor unconscious as Eva knelt by her side, 
crying in great agony : 

"Oh, mamma, mamma! they have killed you!” 

Mrs. Rainor was kneeling by her husband wiping the blood 
from his face. He had been shot through the temple and had 
died instantly. 

As soon as the smoke had cleared away, the men raised Mrs. 


— 75 — 


Bray and carried her to her bed, with little Eva clinging to her 
dress. 

They then examined Jack Martin and found him dangerously 
wounded and unconscious. On examining Jim Rainor they 
found him dead and then they arrested Mrs. Rainor as an ac- 
complice. 

Mrs. Bray being unconscious, they were obliged to carry 
her along with Jack Martin to the jail, accompanied by little 
Eva and Mrs. Rainor. 

Jim Rainor was left in the cabin until the following day, then 
they buried him. 

They ordered Jack Martin to be guarded closely until he 
was well enough to stand trial, there being a large reward of- 
fered for the two men, dead or alive. The officers were anx- 
ious to obtain it, and at once returned to make their report. 

Mrs. Bray was still unconscious, and they thought she could 
not live long, and they put her in a darkened room, and Mrs. 
Rainor was set to watch and care for her. As there was no 
doctor in the place, Mrs. Rainor had to act as nurse and get 
along as best she could. She had been set free by the officers, . 
as they could not find enough evidence to hold her. 

Jack Martin was very low and could not live very long. He 
was placed in a room by himself and guarded by a nurse. 

A week went by, and Mrs. Bray was getting better, and in 
truth was fast becoming sane. 

Jack Martin was failing fast, and now knew that he must 
die. While thinking over his past life and many sins, he was 
filled with remorse and wished tO' repair what little he could. 
He asked that Mrs. Bray might be sent to him, that he might 
see her and little Eva. He was now so low that if he was ever 
to tell her the truth, he must do so soon. They at once sent 
for Mrs. Bray and little Eva, still believing them to be his. 
wife and child. , , ' i 


— 7G— 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MR. bray's marriage:. 

On the morning of the wedding, Helen sat in her own room 
alone. She felt that from this day on her life would change. 
She could not feel glad in the marriage of her father, yet she 
could not advise him otherwise. She knew there was a change 
already in his actions toward herself, which filled her with 
strange misgivings. 

Miss Lee had made grand preparations for this day. The 
house was decorated in great tyle. She had ordered her dress 
from the east, with many other things, which could not be ob- 
tained in Glenwood. It was to* be the great day of her life, and 
she spared no expense in making it a very elaborate affair. 

A select few of Mr. Bray's friends were invited, while others, 
objected to his marriage and did not hesitate in telling him so 
and thereby missed an invitation to the wedding. 

Miss Lee was now very happy ; she was at last to be mistress 
of this grand house, and also' tO' have a fortune at her com- 
mand. She had but very little to say to Helen, for she could 
plainly see that she was not satisfied ; but little she cared now 
of what she, Helen, thought. At last the hour came; they 
were all in the parlor. The ceremony over, they were receiv- 
ing congratulations on all sides. Helen, pale and trembling, 
stood by and was the last tO' congratulate them. Her voice 
faltered and the words could not come; then, turning quickly 
away, she left the room. She did not appear again that even- 
ing ,and her father feeling it an insult, from that time on 
treated her in a very cold and reserved way. Helen soon became 
very unhappy and would spend the most of her time away from 
home, her stepmother becoming more cruel toward her every 
day. She became very overbearing and found fault with Helen 
in every conceivable way. She spent plenty of money upon 


■ 77 — 


herself, but as little as possible, upon Helen. She would often 
complain tO' Mr. Bray that Helen was cross and mistreated her 
and that she could not stand it any longer. This would cause 
Mr. Bray tO' chide Helen with disobedience toward her step- 
mother. 

Thus they became estranged and Helen avoided meeting her 
father as much as possible. Whenever they did meet there 
was something for him tO' scold her about, and she began to 
hate her stepmother more and more. 

Helen only found pleasure when away from home. She 
visited the pool and most any evening she could be found among 
the many bathers. Her stepmother found fault with this, and 
her father forbade her going to- the pool, but she was self-willed 
and paid no attention to his advice. Many times when he 
thought her in bed and asleep she was having a good time in 
the pool with the girls and boys. 

One Sunday there was a large excursion from Leadville and 
Aspen. The Oddfellows were celebrating their anniversary, 
and Glenwood was crowded with strangers. In the evening 
fully two hundred people were in the pool. It was a grand 
sight, while crowds stood on the banks and watched the bathers. 

The band was playing and soft music filled the air while 
everybody seemed happy, and loud peals oi laughter came from 
the crowd in the pool. Some one had received a ducking and 
was trying to duck someone else in return, everyone enjoying 
themselves hugely. 

There came a shrill cry of “Help !” from a crowd of girls 
standing on the edge of the fountain. A girl was drowning ! 
“Help! Help!’:, • 

They had laughingly pushed one of their number off back- 
ward into the water. When the cry of “Help!” came every- 
one seemed paralyzed for the moment, then a young man who 
had just made his appearance on the bank was just in time to 


— 78 — 


see the girl fall. He pulled off his coat and plunged into the 
pool. The hot water taking him by surprise caused him to make 
many ludicrous movements but soon composing himself he 
swam hurriedly to the drowning girl just as she was sinking the 
second time. He grasped her by the arm and endeavored to 
raise her head out oi the water, finding her unconscious, he 
hastened to- the bank with her, and she was lifted from the 
water. 

Crowds gathered around her and she was soon recognized; 
then the news spread like wild-fire. Helen Bray was drowned ! 

The girls knew that Helen was an expert swimmer and 
thought it fun to push her off and see her swim. She had often 
dove off of the fountain walls and thought nothing of it, but 
she was not prepared this time, and being taken by surprise, 
she soon strangled and could not get her breath in time to 
swim. 

She was taken to the dressing rooms and with restoratives 
was soon brought to her senses, but so weak she could not 
walk. A carriage was called and she was taken at once to 
her home. Mr. Bray, thinking that she was in her room, was 
very much surprised and frightened when they brought her 
home, but he could not resist the opportunity of giving her a 
lecture on her disobedience. 

She was put to bed at once, as she was very weak. 

Glenwood was now filled with excitement, for half of the 
people believed that Helen Bray was drowned and many were 
the rumors spread that might concern her. 

But when the papers came out the next morning it was soon 
known that she was not drowned but had had a very narrow 
escape, it was the topic of conversation for several days 
afterward. The pool so far, luckily, had no such accident laid 
up against it, although it had been prophesied by many that 


— 79 — 


just such a thing would happen; but sO' far nO' blame could be 
attached to it, and it still held its popularity. 

The girls were much frightened and learned a lesson that 
they would not soon forget, they all hastened to* Helen to beg 
her pardon, while she held no ill will against them and felt 
that she had deserved her punishment for her disobedience. 

Helen's stepmother made much of the accident, and did not 
fail to show up Helen's disobedience tO’ her father, which dis- 
graced her more than ever in his eyes. Thus Hlelen was very 
unhappy. While Helen lay in bed, she had plenty of time to 
brood over her troubles, then she began to wonder who the 
young man was, who had saved her life and if she would ever 
get tO' see him, and how she should thank him. 

But her father had already thought of this and had at once 
looked him up. He found him at the Hotel Glenwood, and 
that he was a young man who had only arrived the day before, 
and that it was his first visit to the pool when he was lucky 
enough to be in time to save the young lady from drowning. 

He could not help smiling when he thought how hot the 
water was, and how utterly surprised he was when he leaped 
into the water, he was nearly tempted to make for the walls 
again, when once more thinking of the drowning girl, he swam 
on until he reached her. He said if he had known how hot the 
water was, he doubted if he would have made the attempt. Mr. 
Bray thanked him for his timely actions, then left him, return- 
ing to his home he found Helen quite ill and would have called 
a doctor, but Helen insisted that it was not necessary. 

Her father remained at home all day, being very uneasy 
about Helen, and began to regret his harsh actions towards her. 
But Helen did not know of this and felt that she had not a 
friend in the world, for she dearly loved her father, and until 
his marriage with Miss Lee, had never received a harsh word 
from him. 


— 80 — 


But now he never looked at her without a frown upon his 
face, and she was never happy in his presence. 

Her stepmother remained away from her, so she was not an- 
noyed with her presence, and the day wore away — a long, 
weary day to Helen. 


CHAPTER XV. 

COUNT WIUUOUGHBY NOW BECOMES BARON WAUTON. 

When the count left his family, he thought at first to look for 
Josephine, but on his way out, he met a messenger boy, who 
handed him a telegram, notifying him to come to England 
at once. On learning that a steamer would start the next even- 
ing, he at once took passage and engaged a room. Then going 
about town and settling some money affairs with his bankers, 
soon after returning to* the steamer and taking possession of 
his room, retired for the night. Next morning he was on his 
way to* England, before he was awake. 

On arriving in England he learned that he had became heir 
to an immense estate; also the title of Baron Walton. He at 
once telegraphed the news to his bankers in America and soon 
it was in all the leading papers. Thus his wife learned of his 
good fortune. He then visited the Rollins family and learned 
to his surprise that they had never known what had become 
of Josephine. Mr. Rollins was very much grieved at Joseph- 
ine’s treatment of them, and could give the Baron nO' clue to 
her whereabouts. 

The baron went about and settled up his estates. This be- 
ing a large undertaking, he was a long time at it. At last 
everything was settled satisfactorily. Then he began to think 
of finding his lost child. He knew it would be no easy task, 
and so engaged several detectives. 


-Si- 


After a long and diligent search in England, he was con- 
vinced that she was not there. He then sent the detectives to 
America, who soon informed him that his wife, the baroness, 
was also searching for the lost child and that she had detectives 
in all directions, but as yet nO' clue could be found of the Mar- 
tin family. 

The baron, not wishing tO' meet his wife, remained in En- 
gland, but the search went on for the lost child. Every now 
and then he could hear of his wife, through the detectives, but 
he still believed her guilty, and did not wish to let her know 
his whereabouts. 

The baroness felt very much insulted over her husband’s 
actions, and did not try to find him, but devoted all her time 
in searching for her lost babe. She had searched the City of 
New York through and was no wiser than when she began. 
Many times she hunted down some poor child that proved to 
be as unfortunate as her own, but her own child she could not 
find. 

Thus she had traveled the city over many times and was 
going out with fatigue, when one day Clarence came in with 
a strange man, who said he was an expressman, and that he 
had hauled the Martin family’s trunks to the depot, and that 
he saw them check them tO' some town in the west, but could 
not remember the name, but was sure it was a long way out 
west. That he lived in the suburbs of the city and that Jack 
Martin had come for him to take their trunks to the depot and 
that he knew they had taken a west-bound train. The baroness 
and Clarence immediately made preparations for a western trip^ 
but as they were about ready to start little Arthur became sud- 
denly ill and the baroness was obliged to- remain with him, and 
Clarence went alone. He was tO' visit all the towns in the west 
and with detectives to help him, he traveled day and night. He 
arrived in Denver, Colorado, much discouraged, but here he 


— 84 — 


surely I am awake now. Am I going blind, or is it really so 
dark? Are my eyes effected after so much pain in my head? 
But my head does not ache now. You may open the blinds, . 
Helen, for I can scarcely see you.’' 

‘‘Mamma, there are no- blinds; it is only the pieces of iron 
across the windows, and it is so small and so' high up I can’t 
see out.” 

“Then my eyes are not deceiving me; they are really iron: 
bars, and what are they there for?” 

“Dear mamma, I don’t know, unless they are afraid you 
will get out and run away, and I wish we could. I am tired of 
being shut up so close.” 

“My child, whom do you mean by ‘they’ ?” 

“Why, the people who keep us here.” 

“Where is your papa. Surely he knows where we are and 
why is he not here?” 

“They say he is hurt and is sick and won’t allow anyone to- 
see him.” 

Mrs. Bray, still thinking that she was talking to Helen, of 
course thought it was her husband she was talking about. 

“What! papa sick and we shut up like this? What can be 
the matter with us? Have we had smallpox?” 

“I don’t know, mamma, but you have been very sick, and 
they thought you would die; and papa, they say, will never 
get well.” 

Mrs. Bray walked the floor in great distress. She could not 
think but that they were now in a hospital, and she and her 
husband had been brought there tO’ be cared for. 

The jailor now came for Mrs. Martin, as he supposed, and 
told Mrs. Bray that her husband wished to see her. She hur- 
riedly followed him from the room, not noticing little Eva, 
whom she could now have seen distinctly, as the room was 
flooded with light, on the opening of the door, and she could 


- 85 - 


have seen that it was not Helen, but not once glancing her eyes 
in that direction, she followed her guide and was soon at the 
door of Jack Martin’s cell. The jailer opened the door, then 
motioned to Mrs. Bray tO' enter. He then left them and walked 
away. 

Jack lay upon the bed, pale and haggard, with one arm flung 
across his face, hiding it from view. 

Mrs. Bray hastened to his bedside with outstretched arms, 
crying in broken sobs, ‘‘My husband, oh, my husband!” Jack 
drew his arms from his face and with a wild cry of terror, she 
staggered back and in agonizing tones cried out : “The 
man I saw in my dreams! What can this mean?” Then gaz- 
ing in wonder at the man before her, said, “They told me I 
should find my husband here. They have made a mistake in 
the room.” She then turned to go away. She was stopped by 
the low but excited voice of Jack. “Stay; I have something 
tO' say tO' you. It was I who' sent for you. They think I am 
your husband and I have not undeceived them. You do' not 
recognize me, but I have passed as your husband for two years 
in this camp, and no one but yourself and I know any differ- 
ent. You are now in your right mind and I know it, and I 
want to make a confession, and, if possible, right a great 
wrong.” 

Mrs. Bray, standing like a statue, with hands clasped tightly,, 
half bending toward him, listened with eager ears with her 
eyes almost starting from her head, and as he paused for 
breath, she excitedly exclaimed, “Go' on; I am listening.” 

“I am now on my death bed, and know that what I have to 
say cannot hurt me, and if I can right any wrong that I have 
done, I am resolved to do so, and I have wronged you most 
of all. You are now a sane woman and can understand what 
I have to tell you. 


— 86 — 


‘‘To begin, I will tell you a part of my past life. I was 
born in England and while quite young was married to a lady 
far above my station in life, whom I loved and she returned 
my love. I was a wild, reckless man and soon fell into bad 
company. My wife's parents objected to our union. I per- 
suaded her to elope with me, and we came to America. My 
wife soon became disheartened and regretted our marriage. 
We were poor and to obtain money I fell into the habit of 
gambling. My wife soon learned the facts and it nearly 
broke her heart. She had but few friends, among them a girl 
by the name of Josephine Rollins, whom we met while on our 
way to America. She seemed tO' have great influence over my 
wife, who was never contented unless Josephine was with her. 
A year after our arrival in America a son was born to us. 
Josephine was then employed as a waiting maid in the family 
of the Count Willoughby, whose wife gave birth to a girl baby 
on the same night our son was born. My wife, regretting the 
birth of our child, as she feared my influence over it, and 
knew we could never raise it as it should be. Through Joseph- 
ine, who seemed tO' have some grudge against the Willoughbys, 
she was induced to exchange her baby for the little girl, and I 
also consented, as I saw a chance of making a large sum of 
money someday out of the Willoughbys. Josephine brought 
the child and left it in the place of my son, whom she placed 
in the arms of the countess as her own. We then came west 
and wandered from place to place, until my wife became ill, 
and in a short time became insane. I was compelled to send 
her to an asylum. I took her to the Pueblo' asylum, where she 
was admitted with the little girl, Eva. They remained two 
years, then I received word that my wife was well and was 
told to come for her, as a lady by the name of Mrs. Bray had 
died there with a contagious disease, and that my wife and 
child would be exposed to it, as they were in joining cells. I 


— 87 — 


at once went for them and found, to my surprise, that it was 
my wife who had died, and by some mistake was buried as 
Mrs. Bray. At first I did not know what to do. I could not 
care for little Eva, and was not ready to return her tO' her 
parents, and learning that Eva believed you to be her own 
mother, I resolved to take you away with me as her nurse. 
You did not hesitate to come with me, as you did not know 
under what circumstances you were being taken. I brought 
you here under the care of a Mrs. Rainor, where you have re- 
mained for two years. When I found that they had made a 
mistake at the asylum, I knew you must be the Mrs. Bray, but 
they had already informed your husband of your death, and 
I had no fears of him hunting for you. After coming to this 
camp I have followed the life of an outlaw, and my business 
has been wrecking trains. Jim Rainor was my companion and 
they tell me he is dead. In our last raid we wrecked a train 
wherein many lives were lost. We were run down by the offi- 
cers of the law and hunger brought us to this camp. We had 
been hidden for three days, without food, and starvation would 
soon have overcome us. We came here not thinking we were 
so closely watched, but we were caught. We had made up our 
minds never to be taken alive and we fought our best. Jim 
Rainor was killed immediately, and I received my death wound 
and will soon be dead.’^ 

He now sank back exhausted, motioning for some water. 
Mrs. Bray, taking the glass from the table, handed it to 
him without a word. He drank, and then began again. 

‘‘Now, you know about all, and I hope you will return little 
Eva to her parents, and if you can forgive a dying man the 
great wrong he has done you, it will let me die in peace.” 

He now lay back, so pale that she thought he was indeed 
dead, and a cry escaped her lips, as little Eva ran in and caught 
her by the hand. 


— 88 — 


‘‘Oh, mamma, is he dead; is papa dead?'’ 

Jack raised his head once more, and with feeble hand pointed 
at the child. 

“Mrs. Bray, that is the child I place in your care. I hope 
you will return her to her parents.” 

Mrs. Bray looked at Eva. She understood now that it was 
not Helen who was with her, but this poor little waif, while 
she herself was an outcast and believed dead. Her sympathy 
at once went out to the little child, and taking her 
ing to the sick man, she saw that he was fast sinking. 

“This, then, is the child you have kept from her parents ! and 
I am the mother you have kept from her child?” 

Jack raised his eyes once more and tried to sit up. 

“Yes — oh, my God, forgive me!” then fell back dead. 

With a wild shriek Mrs. Bray fell in a swoon to the floor. 
Her nervous system could stand no more. Little Eva clung 
crying and weeping to her hands, trying to raise her from the 
floor. Thus the jailer found them; he had heard the wild cry 
of Mrs. Bray and hastened in to learn the cause. 

Jack Martin was dead. Mrs. Bray lay unconscious for some 
time and took down with brain fever and lay ill for many 
weeks, and was thought to be more helpless than ever, as in 
her wild delirium she would insist that she was Mrs. Bray and 
begged to be taken home. But this only caused her guards to 
believe her more insane than ever. 

Jack Martin was buried and none knew of his confession to 
Mrs. Bray. 




HELE 


N BRAY. 







— 89 - 


chapter XVII. 

HAS A SUITOR. 

Helen's stepmother was now in her glory. She upbraided 
Helen more than ever, as she looked upon her as standing in 
her way, and she knew the greater portion of Mr. Bray’s wealth 
would go to Helen at his death, unless she could embitter 
him toward Helen enough to disinherit her; then she might 
gain the fortune for herself, and this she had resolved to do. 

Among the friends of Mr. Bray was a gentleman by the 
name of Frank Alton, whom he became greatly attached to, 
and invited him to his home. Frank Alton being reported to 
be a man oi wealth, was welcomed at once by Helen’s step- 
mother. A new thought now entered her mind. If she could 
get this man to marry Helen, she would no longer be in her 
way. 

Frank soon became very much at home, and enjoyed the 
company of Helen and her stepmother, he being a man of 
about forty years of age with a very jovial disposition. Helen 
soon began to enjoy his company, and looked forward to his 
visits with real pleasure. Her stepmother now began to use 
her influence with Mr. Bray, until he began to think it a good 
idea to have Helen marry a rich man even if he was sO' much 
the elder. 

With the aid of his friendship, he was now encouraged with 
his attentions toward Helen, and he was much pleased, when 
he saw they were becoming such good friends. 

Frank Alton and Helen were now often seen out walking to- 
gether. Their favorite haunts were around the pool. Helen 
was much surprised in her stepmother encouraging her in this, 
but was glad to get away from the house and its unpleasant 
social element, and paid but little attention to what was going 
on around her. She noticed that her father had been unusually 


— 90 — 


civil toward her, and her stepmother less displeased, but could 
not understand the sudden change. She thought they might 
now realize how near they came to losing her and were now 
filled with remorse. 

Frank Alton making himself very agreeable to Helen's step- 
mother, was soon given to understand that he would make a 
satisfactory son-in-law, to which he replied that with her per- 
mission and that of Mr. Bray's he would make a proposal to 
Helen. This pleased her very much and she soon gave him an 
opportunity to speak with Helen. After this she was satisfied. 
They did not say that they were engaged, but some satisfac- 
tory agreement had been made between them. 

The local papers were full of an account of the accident, and 
seemed never to tire of praising the young man who had saved 
Helen's life. There was a long account of his being the son 
of a wealthy baron, and that he was here looking for a health 
resort for his mother who was now in the east, but was soon 
to come tO' Glenwood tO' join her son. This was agreeable news 
to Helen's stepmother. She was fond of society and longed to 
show her standing with people in high life. Now there was an 
opening for her; she would insist on Mr. Bray's going at once 
and thanking the young man, and make his acquaintance. Then 
when the mother should arrive she could invite her to her house 
and entertain her in grand style. This would be something to 
boast of. Thrilled with delight at her own imaginations, she 
at once sought Mr. Bray and prevailed on him to seek out the 
young man, which he did as we have seen. Mr. Bray thought 
it his duty to show some gratitude toward the young man, but 
to make his acquaintance — this he was not inclined to do. He 
was satisfied that Helen and Frank Alton was engaged, but if 
this good-looking young man should come upon the scene, he 
could not say what damage he might do. Although he was 
the son of a baron, nothing had been said of his wealth, and 


— 91 — 


what did a title amount to without money? He could see at 
once there was danger in Helen’s becoming acquainted with 
him, and to avoid it he would show this young man that any 
particular intimacy between them would not be agreeable. But 
this was not the case with Helen’s stepmother. Little she 
cared whom Helen should marry, so she took one of them, and 
she could be rid of her, but now she began to think that she 
would rather she was not engaged if it would add to her social 
standing by her becoming acquainted with the baron’s son and 
thus get up an intimacy between them. But now the first thing 
to do was to make his acquaintance. Finding that Mr. Bray 
had not invited him to call, she made up her mind tO' do so 
herself. 

As the mother of Helen she had a right to see him and offer 
her gratitude, and she at once made out an invitation for him 
to dine with them at an early day. 

It was on the morning of the day that Clarence was to dine 
with the Brays, that Mr. Bray was called to Leadville on im- 
portant business, and Frank Alton alsO' had received a tele- 
gram that called him away, and he and Mr. Bray went to- 
gether. They could not say when they would return, but 
thought very soon. 

Frank bade Helen good-bye and her stepmother thought she 
was very anxious about his going, but^did not say anything to 
her until he had gone. Then she asked Helen if she knew on 
what business he was called. Helen hesitatingly replied, ''Some 
mining business — the same as papa. He did not tell me all, 
but it amounts tO' the same.” 

Helen’s, stepmother soon became very busy with her antici- 
pated dinner. She was in a very good humor, now that Mr. 
Bray was gone, and he could not have anything to say con- 
cerning her inviting the young man tO' dinner, and she could 
now have her own way about the matter. She did not bother 


— 92 — 


her head with a thought of Frank Alton's going away. If 
she had known his business, her thoughts would have been 
turned into a very different channel. 

Clarence was delighted with the invitation, and promptly 
at the time set, he made his appearance at the residence of Mr. 
Bray. He was met by a servant, who escorted him to the 
drawing room where he was graciously received by Helen's 
stepmother. Helen was then introduced to the young man. 
Clarence offering his arm when dinner was announced, they all 
went out to dine. 

Helen was somewhat surprised to find Clarence so bright 
and entertaining. She had but little to say herself, but lis- 
tened to his conversation with her stepmother with great inter- 
est. After dinner they returned to the drawing room. Helen 
sang, while Clarence stood by and turned her music, but his 
eyes were facinated upon her face. When he had first beheld 
her, wet and unconscious in his arms, he had thought her 
beautiful, and now as she sat there with eyes sparkling and a 
voice so sweet, as the words of the song escaped her ruby lips, 
he thought her divine, and before he had known her an hour 
he was madly in love with her. Clarence was much pleased 
with his reception and gladly accepted the invitation to call 
again. This was the beginning and from that time on he was 
a regular caller at the home of Helen. Soon they had pleasant 
strolls together. Most every fine evening they could be seen 
at the pool. Helen introduced him to her friends and he was 
soon acquainted with the young people of Glenwood. Helen 
was happy . She was becoming interested more and more each 
day, and people began to think that as an engaged girl she was 
stepping beyond her limits. 

Clarence had not as yet heard of the engagement. Helen's 
stepmother had intimated as much tO' her friends, and it had 
become a town secret, but Helen was unconscious of the fact. 


— 93 — 


and went on encouraging Clarence whom she now knew she 
loved, and did not try to conceal her feelings to him, being 
fully convinced that her love was fully returned. 

Thus they were enjoying the great blessing of mutual love. 


CHx\PTER XVIIL 

FRANK ALTON^S PROPOSAIv. 

We will now return to the evening when Helen’s stepmotlier 
first made it known to Frank Alton that he would make an 
agreeable son-in-law. 

When he found out what they expected of him, he did not 
delay in seeking Helen. He found her in the parlor, seated 
at the piano practicing some pieces of music which she wa*- to 
play at a social the next evening tO' be given by the young la- 
dies of Glen wood belonging to the society of King’s D.;.ug- 
ters, for Helen had not given up her charity work. They were 
now making up a purse to be given to a poor woman who had 
come to Glenwood in search of her husband. She had two 
small children. On arriving in Glenwood she learned tliat her 
husband had not been here and had deceived her. She was 
without money, and a stranger in the town. The society of 
King’s Daughters was now raising money tO' send her t.;. her 
friends in the east. Helen was to furnish instrumental music. 
When Frank Alton entered the room, she stopped playing at 
once, and turned to see who' it was. Frank seated himself in 
a chair near her, saying, ‘‘Miss Bray, I wish to speak with vou 
a few moments, if you can spare them. I am sorry to have 
to disturb you from your music, but I have a very important 
subject that I wish to converse with you on, and I feel that to- 
night is my best opportunity.” 

‘‘Certainly, Mr. Alton, my time and attention are at your 
service. What is it you have to say to me?” 


— 94 — 


‘'In the first place, Miss Bray, you surely have noticed that 
I have been greatly attracted toward this house lately, and I 
suppose it is time that I made my intentions known to you at 
least/’ 

‘‘Why, Mr. Alton ! What have I to do with it ? Why should 
it concern me? Surely you are received here as a dear friend 
of papa’s?” 

“Yes, I know that; but your parents look upon me in a dif- 
ferent light ; in fact. Miss Bray, they look upon me as a suitor 
for your hand in marrige.” 

“Oh, dear me! I hope not!” 

“Then you do not look upon me in the same light?” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Alton; I regard you as a dear friend, but I 
have never thought of you as a lover.” 

“Very well; your parents regard me in that light, and have 
as good as asked my intentions.” 

“Oh, surely they could not have done such a thing; they 
both know that I do not love you — I — beg your pardcn. Mr. 
Alton — but they have made a sad mistake. Oh, whal shall I 
do? This is indeed embarrassing.” 

“Do? Why I think you have done enough!” 

“Why, what have I done?” 

“Done? Have you not just said that you do not love me I'” 

“Oh, forgive me, Mr. Alton; I did not know what I was 
saying. I hope that I have not hurt your feelings, but surely 
you did not think that I loved you ?” 

“Why, no; and I was glad to hear you say that you did 
not.” 

“Then you do not despise me; you will still be my friend?” 

“Yes, Miss Bray, I will be your friend and as such I come to 
you tonight. In the first place, I am pleased to know that 3'ou 
wish tO' regard me as a friend. Your stepmother has been try- 
ing to make me believe that I had gained your love, and your 


-os- 


father has also given me to understand that he expected me to 
make a proposal to you, and I had begun to feel like a guilty 
man for I did not know but that I had gained your young 
heart, and it grieved me not a little, for, Helen, allow miC to 
call you SO, I have only looked upon yon as the daughter of 
my friend, and Helen, I am not what I seem.” 

‘‘Not what you seem ? What do you mean ?” 

“I mean that I am not the rich miner that I pretend to be, 
and I am deceiving your father also in regard to my business, 
and who I really am, in fact, Helen — I am a detective. !” 

“A detective ! And what do you want in my father’s hcu.=e ?” 

“It is a long story, Helen, and if you will promise to help 
me, and keep my secret, I will tell you. Promise me you will 
not tell one word of it to any living being, and I will tell 
you why I wish to remain in your father's house for some 
time yet.” 

“Go on; I shall be as silent as the grave; trust me.” 

“Very well, then, listen; this is to be a secret between you 
and I. Not even your father must suspect anything.” 

“Oh, tell me! If it is not anything that will harm my dear 
father. It is not for him you are watching?” 

“No, my dear child; it is for his good and yours, that I am 
here, and to bring the guilty to justice. I promise that I will 
not dO' anything to harm you or your father.” 

“Then I promise to help you all I can. Tell me; I am so 
anxious what it can be that requires a detective in our home.” 

“Now, then, to begin, I am hired by a man in England to 
find a woman whom I have reasons to believe is near here. 
This woman, six years ago, stole a baby from this gentl.nnan 
and gave it to a family who came out west. I am hired to 
find the family and alsO' the woman. I have traced them to 
L'eadville. The family I have lost track of; the woman I have 
reasons to^ believe is in Glenwood.” 


— 96 — 


‘‘What! Here in Glenwood? Surely, then, you will find 
her as Glenwood is a small place.” 

“That is true. If I only knew the woman when I saw her, 
but I have never seen her and only have a description of her, 
and I want to identify her before I make an arrest. I think 
that I have found her, but I want to be sure that it is she, and 
I am waiting now for aclue that will convince me that I am 
right.” 

“But why do you wish to stay here in this house; do you 
think that she is among my friends?” 

“No, Helen; she is not your friend — far from it! Can you 
not guess whom I mean; have you no suspicions?” 

“Oh, surely you do not mean my” 

“Yes, Helen; I mean no other than your father’s wife!” 

“What! my father’s wife a kidnapper; can it be possible?” 

“That is what I have every reason tO' believe, and, listen, 
that is not all ; she has married your father for his money ; she 
is now working a scheme to have you disinherited by your 
father, that she may get all his money. She has now exacted 
a promise from him to make you marry me that she might be 
rid of you. She makes your father believe that if you marry 
me, you will then be provided for, as she believes me tO' be 
a millionaire. Then he can deed over all his property to' her. 
Now, I want to- foil her schemes and make her believe that I 
intend to marry you ; then she will readily consent to my stay- 
ing here, and by doing so I can watch her, and she may in 
some way betray herself to me, and I wish to* be on the best 
of terms with her, that she may not suspect my intentions to- 
ward her. Now, if you will agree tO' help me, we will make 
her believe that we are engaged. She will think that her scheme 
is working, while we will be more able to find her out, and we 
will be obliged to make your father believe the same in order 
to keep his goodwill.” 


— 97 — 


'‘All right; I will dO' as you say, for I believe you are in the 
right, and if she is the woman you think, it will do me good 
to bring her to justice. She has made my home miserable ever 
since she entered it. I know my father does not love her, but 
she has made him believe that he cannot do without her, and 
if she is the woman you believe her to be, we will both be the 
happier without her presence in our home.’^ 

"We must both be on our guard and not let her suspect any- 
thing. I am satisfied that in a short time we will know for 
sure if she is the woman. For your father’s sake, I do not 
want to arrest her on suspicion, but if I can identify her in 
some way so as to be sure, then I shall not hesitate to make 
the arrest. But, until then, we must work carefully and do 
our best tO' find out the truth; and now that we understand 
each other, we can act our parts with better freedom, and with 
your help I am confident of success.” 

"Viery well; you may depend on me.” 

"I will now say good-night, as the hour is late!” exclaimed 
Frank, as he glanced at his watch. 

"Good-night; may success go with you.” 

It was a few days after the forgoing conversation that Frank 
received the telegram calling him away. Helen, filled with 
anxiety to know what clue he might now have, waited anx- 
iously for some word on his return. 

She was sure that something would turn up to convict her 
stepmother, and the more she thought over it, the more sure 
she was that her stepmother was the guilty party. 


— 98 — 


i CHAPTER XIX. 

MRS. RAINOR'S evidence. 

As soon as Mrs. Rainor was released she was at once en- 
gaged to take care of Mrs. Bray and Eva. She had always been 
very good to them and it was through her good care that Mrs. 
i Bray had gained as fast as she did. 

But Mrs. Rainor, fully believing that Mrs. Bray was still in- 
sane, would not believe otherwise. When Mrs. Bray would 
talk of her husband and daughter, she would tell her how he 
had died, and that her daughter was with her. 

Eva would try to console her, and she seemed to realize 
that her ‘‘mamma’’ acted more strangely towards her, but 
thought it was because she had grown worse, and this nearly 
distracted her, for Mrs. Rainor now talked as if they were to 
be separated, and she watched her “mamma” closely and would 
not leave her for moment. 

At last Mrs. Bray grew stronger, and was determined to 
make herself known, and insisted that she was not Mrs. Mar- 
tin, but Mrs. Bray. But they would only shake their heads 
and say, “Poor woman, she is worse than ever,” and she knew 
that she must act at once if she wished to identify herself. 

! The sheriff was now anxious to get rid of her for he feared 
that she might do some harm. She was now so much stronger 
.and had a more determined look, which greatly annoyed them, 
now thought it time to take some action toward having her 
I sent back to the asylum. 

] He sent for Mrs. Rainor and asked her opinion on the sub- 
I ject, she agreeing at once that it would be best, as there was 
no money coming to pay her for her trouble and she did not 
'i care to be bothered with them any longer, and she was be- 
ginning to be afraid of Mrs. Bray. 


— 99 — 


The jailer was called in, and given orders to bring Mrs. 
Bray in at once. She soon came looking keenly from one to . 
the other, trying to read their thoughts, for she knew they 
were intending to do something with her. But they all looked 
puzzled and she knew they were trying to decide what tO' do-. 
The sheriff then spoke kindly and asked how she was feeling 
today. 

‘'Thank you, sir, I am feeling quite well, and if you will 
allow me, I will write to my husband and he will come and 
take me away. I know I am making a great deal of trouble 
for you all, but I will see that you are all amply paid, for my 
husband will gladly repay you for all the expense I have put 
you to.'' 

“My dear woman, I am sorry to see you still persist that 
you are not Mrs. Martin. Can we not convince you of your 
mistake? You have been very sick, you know, and haven't 
you become a little mixed in your mind?" 

“Nor, sir! I know that I have been very ill, and that I 
have been for sometime insane, but since my last sickness I 
have been as sane as you are, and if you will listen to- me I 
will explain in some degree, the great mistake that has been, 
made." 

“But, my dear woman, if I was not convinced of your in- 
sanity, I might listen, but there is no use in your getting 
excited in trying to explain a matter which I am sure is all 
imagination on your part. We have your husband's words, 
and that of others for the truth of your insanity, and surely 
I could not rely upon your word for anything that might bring 
us all trouble. So, my dear woman, for your own good you 
had better make up your mind to be sent back to the asylum 
from whence you came." 

“Oh, no, no ! Do not send me back until you have heard 
my story; you can at least hear it, and then if I fail to con- 


vince you, then you can send me back; but if you will hear 
me, I am sure you will help me to find my home and hus- 
band/’ 

‘‘There isn’t any use. I have called you in to tell you what 
we have resolved to do. Tomorrow I will call in some wit- 
nesses and have you tried on your sanity, then we will see 
I what must be done. We want to do the best we can for you, 
1 so until then you may retire.” 

“Oh, if you will give me a fair trial, I will be satisfied!” 
Then, turning, she left the room in great distress. 

The next day the sheriff called a trial; everyone who had 
known Mrs. Bray since her arrival in the camp being called 
in to testify to her sanity. There was a crowd gathered at 
the sheriff’s office. First one then another was called to tes- 
tify. Mrs. Bray sat listening; she could now learn her every 
action since coming to the camp and she was greatly inter- 
ested. 

There was not anything so very damaging against her; 
she seemed to have the good will of all. But still they all 
thought her insane to some degree, yet they all had sym- 
pathy for her. At the last, Mrs. Rainor was called. She 
took the witness stand and seemed perfectly at her ease, for 
what she had to tell, she was perfectly sincere in believing 
was the truth, and when asked to make her statement, she 
began in a quiet, straightforward way. How she had met 
Jack Martin in Pueblo, where she had first met Mrs. Bray. 
Jack had said that she was his wife and that Eva was his 
child, and that he had just taken his wife from the asylum; 
that she was a little demented, but harmless. That she had 
been dismissed from the asylum on the account of a lady dying 
there by the name of Mrs. Bray; that they had come together 
i to the camp and she had been her constant companion for 
two years. Jack Martin had sent her money regularly for her 


— 101 — 


services in caring for his wife and child. She had not seen 
Jack Martin from the time they arrived in camp, until the 
night of his arrest. Her husband had made several visits 
home and through him she had received the money from Jack 
Martin. She had been ignorant of her husband’s business, 
but thought him a prospector. Her charge had always been 
quiet, and seldom made her any trouble; then only when 
she wandered around, and she was afraid that she would get 
lost in the mountains. Mrs. Rainor then stated that if they 
would let her she would keep Eva, but that she thought best 
that Mrs. Bray should be sent back to the asylum as she had 
noticed quite a change in her looks and actions since her 
husband’s death, and ‘she feared they would have trouble with 
her. 

As there were no more witnesses, the sheriff was satisfied 
with the evidence, and was convinced that the only thing now 
to do was tO' send her back to the asylum. He then gave or- 
ders for her to be guarded carefully until the arrival of the 
next stage. He then dismissed them. 

Mrs. Bray sat mute; she knew that she would not receive 
any mercy from them, and fearing that they would take Eva 
from her, she was nearly wild. As the sheriff ordered her to 
be taken to her room, she then found her voice and kneeling 
at his feet, she begged most piteously to be allowed to write 
to her husband. 

The sheriff at first refused to listen to her, but seeing her 
despairing look in her eyes, he asked : 

‘Tf I will write, won’t that do?” 

“Oh, why won’t you let me write? He will know my writ- 
ing and will be convinced that it is from his wife, and will 
come to me at once. You can write also; it will not take long 
for a reply.” Seeing that he hesitated, she continued her 
pleading. 


— 102 — 


^'Oh, grant this request, and you will save me from going 
back tO' the asylum/’ 

The sheriff was undecided; it would take at least ten days 
to get an answer if they should write, and he feared it would 
not be safe to keep her that long with them. 

After some deliberation, and talking it over with Mrs. 
Rainor, he finally concluded to write. It could do nO' harm^, 
and then the woman could ask no more. He feared if he 
should refuse she might make them more trouble. He then 
gave pen and paper to Mrs. Bray, and told her to write, and 
that he would wait ten days for an answer. 

She eagerly took the pen and seating herself at the same 
table with him, soon wrote a hurried letter, but enough to 
convince her husband that she was really his wife, who was 
alive and in trouble. 

She then handed it to the sheriff to read. . He was some- 
what surprised, for really there seemed some truth in her 
statements. ^ 

He then wrote a letter to the officials at the asylum telling 
them about the circumstances, concerning the woman he now 
had in his care and to know if there was any truth in her 
story. He also' wrote a letter to Mr. Bray at Glenwood, then 
taking all the letters he went out to^ mail them. 

M^rs. Bray retired to her room feeling happier than she had 
felt for many a day. 

Oh, how anxiously she looked for the coming of her hus- 
band. It seemed to her as though the days would never 
go by. 

Little Eva wondered at her mamma’s cheerful manner. She 
was soon allowed to go out for a walk with Mrs. Rainor and 
Eva, and seemed so much brighter. She talked to Mrs. Rainor 
and tried to explain how she came to be in this position, but 
she would not pay any attention to her words, and this only 


— 103 — 


added a more eager desire to convince her. 

It was nearing the time for an answer to- her letter and she 
was becoming more nervous and exciteable, and she spent the 
last few days in pacing the floor in great agitation, while her 
attendants watched her with anxiety, for they feared when the 
crisis came that she would be uncontrollable. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE MYSTERIOUS TETTER. 

Mr. Bray and Frank Alton had been gone about a week, 
and they had not been heard from. Helen had gone with 
Clarence to a picnic, leaving her stepmother at home alone, 
and as the mail had not been received that day she went to the 
postofflce herself. 

Among many letters for Mr. Bray there were twO’ which 
puzzled her, as they were from a new quarter from which he 
had not been in the habit of receiving letters, and one was in a 
feminine hand which greatly aroused her curiosity. On her 
way home she had examined them closely, and by the time 
she arrived at home she was determined to know their con- 
tents. She hastened to her room, and laying aside her wraps 
she seated herself near a window and opened the letter written 
in a feminine hand first. As she scanned the words before her, 
her face paled, then a determined look came into her eyes as 
she read the following: 

‘‘Arizona, August i8 — . 

Mr. L. Bray. 

Dear Husband : — You no doubt will be greatly surprised 
on receiving this. Through some mistake by the officers 
at the asylum, I was discharged in the place of another 
woman whom I am now believed to be by the people of 
this place. 


— 104 — 


I was brought here by a man who claimed me as his 
wife, while I was yet insane, but now I am perfectly sane 
and realize my position. In vain have I tried tO' convince 
them who I really am, and am now being held as a 
mad woman, and I will be sent back to the asylum, unless 
you come and identify me as your wife. Hoping that you 
will come at once and bring my darling child, Helen, with 
you. 

I am your unfortunate wife, 

Madeline Bray."^ 

Filled with consternation, she read it again and again; then 
arose and paced the floor in fevered excitement. 

‘‘What does this mean? Mr. Bray’s wife alive! Then 
what am I? It cannot be! it must not be! I will not give 
up my home and future prospects to another! They believe 
her mad, do they? Well, let them! I will not help to prove 
her sanity. I have it ! Mr. Bray need not know of this letter, 
and I will answer it; but I will read the other letter from the 
same place and then perhaps I will know better what to 
say.” 

She again seated herself and opened the remaining letter, 
which read as follows: 

“Arizona, August, i8 — . 

Mr. L. Bray, Glenwood Springs, Colo. 

Dear Sir : — I am much puzzled to explain my business 
to you. There is a lady here who calls herself Mrs. Bray, 
but has been known to us for two years by another name. 
She was an inmate of the asylum and discharged. A man 
who claimed her as his wife brought her here. He has 
since died and the woman now claims that she is Mrs. 
Bray of Glenwood, Colo. — s, lady who died at the asy- 
lum while she was an inmate of that place. We are con- 


- 105 — 


vinced that her strange malady has returned, and I have 
made arrangements to send her back to the asylum. But 
she has pleaded so piteously to be allowed tO' write to you 
that I have consented, and now wait your reply. 

Yours, 

J. F. Cummings, 

Sheriff of the Arizona Coal Camp.’’ 


Sitting with her head in her hands, her elbows resting on 
the table, her mind was now busied in deep thought. She did 
not have one doubt but that the woman was Mrs. Bray, but 
why was she known by another name ? Surely someone ought 
to know the truth, and if there was a wrong done she was not 
going to right it. It would not do! She read the letter 
again. have it; I will write to the sheriff!” Then seating 
herself at her writing desk. She hastily penned a letter. After 
reading it she then destroyed the two letters that she had re- 
ceived, and sat silent once more in deep thought. 

‘T will see if I am to be driven out of my home and dis- 
graced before my friends!” 

Then she thought of the baroness who was soon to be h^r 
guest. She must not hear of this, or all her fondest dreams 
would be shattered. If she could only keep this a secret to 
the world until she could get Mr. Bray to deed her his prop- 
erty; then, if it was found out, she could leave the country, 
and now she must work for that aim. 

Clarence and Helen were becoming great friends and 
scarcely an evening passed, that they were not together. So, 
if Helen did not marry Frank Alton, there was some hopes 
of her marrying Clarence, and she would get rid of her one 
way or another, and now she must hurry up the marriage of 
Helen, as that would be her first steps toward success. 


— 106 — 


So, taking her letter, she hastily left the house, going to 
the postoffice and mailing it at once. It seemed that luck was 
in her favor. Mr. Bray was gone and there was no one to 
watch her actions. She now wished for the return of Frank 
Alton that she might learn more of the engagement with 
Helen. 

It was now the month of August, and the bathing season was 
at its highest. Hundreds were now flocking to the great sum- 
mer resort, made famous by its wonderful hot springs. Every 
day large parties of sportsmen were going out camping in 
the mountains; some merely for the outing, others for the 
hunting of bear, elk, deer and other wild animals. The Indians 
had now been driven out of the country which was once the 
reservation of the once-feared and hostile Utes. But a short 
walk up the canon was the wonderful cave known as the 
‘‘Alexander Cave.” This cave had numerous large caverns. 
Parties who' visited this cave would behold a wonderful sights 
it being filled with glistening stalectites and odd-shaped crys- 
tals, and one of the most curious and rarest sights seen in the 
western country. 

Situated half way up the mountain side, its only access being 
by a winding trail around the mountain. 

There were horses and the much ridiculed burros kept at a 
stable in Glenwood for the purpose of carrying parties to and 
from the cave. Many preferring to walk, as about half way 
between Glenwood and the cave was a high but level spot,, 
where one can rest, and enjoy the magnificent scenery. Al- 
though a steep climb up the narrow trail from far below, one 
is well paid for their trouble. From this spot one can see for 
miles down the valley of the Grand River, and above them 
towers the rugged cliffs of the canon. From this point many 
sketches have been made of the town of Glenwood, and the 
famous tunnel of the Rio Grande railroad. It is here where 


— 107 — 


the artist’s eye can feast on the beauties of nature. 

The tourist who fails to visit this spot can never realize 
what they have lost, as it is one of the many wonders of the 
world. 

No wonder, then, that so many seek this little spot ‘'among^ 
the Rockies” to make themselves homes. No wonder that 
the rich and the poor alike come to this little town, whereby 
bathing in the life-giving springs, they can obtain health and 
happiness. 

Thus thought this woman who might now be compelled to 
give up home, happiness and all that was dear in Hfe, and 
with a vow, she was determined it should not be. 


CHAPTER XXL 

CnARE^NCE IN TROUBLE. 

Clarence and Helen were among the many who' had vis- 
ited the Alexander Cave, and had enjoyed the trip very much. 
It was the evening after their return that Clarence had made 
up his mind to ask Helen to be his wife. On calling upon 
her that evening, he found her alone and reading a letter that 
she had just received. He thought her in a strange mood, 
but avoided asking her any questions. They. talked of their 
trip to the cave, and were thus occupied when Helen’s step- 
mother came in. Speaking pleasantly ta Clarence, she turned 
to Helen and said, ‘‘Was your letter from your father?” 

“Oh, no; it is from Mr. Alton.” 

“When is he coming back?” 

“He does not say; he is very busy.” 

“Has he seen your father ; does he speak of him ?” 

“Yes; he says that father is having trouble over some mines.” 

“What is Mr. Alton doing ? His business must be of great 
importance to keep him away at this time.” 


— 108 — 


‘^And why at this time any more than any other?’’ 

‘‘Why, surely, when a man has just become engaged, it is 
not usual for him to leave so suddenly, without giving some 
important reason for his neglect.” Then, turning to Clarence, 
she haid, “You see I am somewhat anxious about my future 
son-in-law, and hope you will excuse this interruption.” Thus 
saying, she left the room. 

Clarence stared at Helen as if stupified. Arising and taking 
a step toward her, he said, “Helen — Miss Bray — is this true? 
Are you the promised bride of that man?” 

Helen did not answer. He then continued. 

“Then why have you encouraged my attentions? Surely 
you could not help but see that I was loving you more each 
day ! Why did you not send me away? You surely knew how 
it must end. I came tonight to ask you to be my wife, only, to 
find you the promised wife of another!” 

Helen was greatly embarrassed. How could she explain, 
what her engagement amounted to? She had just received a 
letter from Mr. Alton telling her to guard their secret, and 
under no circumstances let it be known. She did not know 
what tO' say, but made an effort to explain, in great confusion. 

“Clarence; there is something to be explained, but I am not 
at liberty to explain it now. Forgive my seeming heartless- 
ness.” 

“Forgive you ! When you have wrecked my happiness ! Oh, 
Helen! may you never know the bitter sorrow that you have 
caused one who' has loved you so sincerely. If you have done 
this for your own pleasure, then may God forgive you, for I 
never can!” 

Helen was now driven to distraction; if she could only tell 
him all; but, no! she must keep silent and let him suffer, be- 
lieving her false and cruel. 


— 109 — 


/'Clarence, you believe me false; that I am only playing with 
your heart, but, believe me when I say that you are mistaken; 
but I can say no more/' 

"Yes, I have made a mistake, for I believe you loved me, 
while it was only your generosity. Feeling yourself under 
obligations to me for the favor I once bestowed upon you, 
you have invited me to your home ,and I, being a stranger, 
you have tried to make my stay here as pleasant as possible, 
and in so doing you have led me on to love you, and now my 
life is blighted; I can never love another! While you with 
your fine sense of womanhood, could not tell me of your en- 
gagement, I now will show my manhood by leaving you. I 
am waiting for a letter from my mother, and as soon as I re- 
ceive it, I will leave Glenwood and your presence forever! 
Hoping that I may not look upon your fair face again; so, 
farewell !" 

Taking his hat, he immediately left the room. 

Helen threw herself down on the sofa in despair. 

"Oh, Clarence, Clarence! do not leave me! Ah, why am I 
driven to this ? He will go away and never ask me to be his 
wife, and never know how much I love him. If it were not 
for that horrid woman, my stepmother, I would not have to 
suffer like this. She has caused it all. Oh, how I hate her! 
and now I will do my utmost to bring her to justice!" 

She sat long intO' the night, forgetting the home ; forgetting 
everything, but that Clarence was gone. Yes, gone never to 
return! At last with swollen eyes and chilled through, she 
sought her room, there to put in the most of the night weep- 
ing. 

After leaving the house, Clarence wandered about the pool 
until late at night. Not until the last bather had gone home 
did he think of retiring to his room. How different every- 
thing seemed now; he no longer took any notice of anything 


-— 110 - 


’ going on around him. When once the antics of the bathers 
in the pool used to bring forth peals of laughter, now nothing 
short of a circus could make him smile. 

Several days passed before anything more was heard from 
Frank Alton. Helen was almost distracted. He, at least, 

, could sympathize with her, if he knew, and she anxiously 
awaited his return. She thought Clarence had left Glenwood, 
as she had not seen him since that unhappy evening. Her step- 
mother was now getting uneasy for some word from Mr. 
Bray. At last a letter came, stating that he could not come 
home for some time yet, as one of his mines had failed and 
he was having trouble with the stockholders. She did not 
care for his being away, but it worried her to learn of his 
losing money. 

A few days after this news, Frank Alton came back. Helen 
was delighted tO' see him^^ and not much more than her step- 
mother. He had a big story to tell — how he had sold a mine 
and was now a millionaire; how sorry he felt for Mr. Bray's 
misfortune, but that was the way of the world, in this western 
country. One day a man was a millionaire; another day a 
pauper, and vice versa. He seemed to be in such good spirits, 
.and as soon as a chance was given her, Helen told her troubles 
to the detective. He was very much surprised, as he had not 
known anything about Clarence. 

‘Well, well! you are in a peculiar situation, to be sure, and 
I do not see how I am to remedy it.” 

Helen was now disconsolate. She thought there was no 
way out of her troubles, and the only way to do was to give 
up to her fate. 

Frank Alton made some inquiry concerning Clarence, and 
then went about as unconcerned as if nothing had happened. 
He did not seem to notice Helen's distress, and this only wor- 
ried her the more. She now began to think that it was not all 


-Ill- 


pretence with him, and that he was really going to hold her to 
the engagement. He spent a great deal of his time with her 
stepmother. She began tO' fear that he was using her as an 
instrument to further his plans, and that she was to be the suf- 
ferer. 

Thus the time passed for a few days, while she was filled 
with anxious forebodings of evil concerning her future hap- 
piness. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

MRS. brave's SKNTE:NCE^. 

The day on which the stage was to arrive, Mrs. Bray anx- 
iously watched) the road by which it came. At last, as she 
was sitting by the window, she saw it as it came rumbling 
along. There were no passengers visible, and her heart be- 
gan to sink within her breast. For she anticipated the coming 
of her husband, but no one alighted, and she watched with 
tearful eyes as they unloaded the express matter. 

The sherifif was waiting for his mail, and it seemed hours 
to Mrs. Bray instead of minutes, before she saw him coming 
from the office. 

On arriving in his own office, he opened his many letters. 
There was none for Mrs. Bray, but one for himself from Glen- 
wood. After reading its contents, he sat in deep thought for 
some time. 

How was he to break the news tO' the poor woman ? Surely 
it was no easy task, and he shrank from it. He then called 
Mrs. Rainor and the jailer, and told them the news that he had 
received. It was nothing more than they had expected, yet 
it caused a sorrowful feeling among them all. 

The sheriff now ordered Mrs. Bray brought in, as it had to 
be done, and it was best to have it over as soon as possible. 


— 112 — 


' Mrs. Bray came in, greatly excited. She knew now there 
was some news, and was anxious to know the worst. She 
stood before the sheriff in an expectant attitude, not once 
moving her eyes from his face. She understood by his looks, 
that the news was not what she had expected. 

‘'Sit down, my good woman; I have some news from Mr. 
Bray, and you must control yourself while I read it to you.’’ 

Mrs. Bray’s heart gave a great throb as she heard her hus- 
band’s name, and seating herself before the sheriff with her 
hands tightly clasped and every nerve tention tightly drawn, 
she bade him read, as she was listening. 

The sheriff, with a great effort of self-control, proceeded to 
read the following letter : 

“To the Sheriff of the Arizona Coal Camp, Arizona. 

Dear Sir: — I received your letter, and must say it 
greatly surprised, as well as pained me, to hear of the 
lady’s unfortunate delusion, and am sorry to say she is 
fsurely demented, as I have a certificate of my dear wife’s 
death at the Pueblo asylum, and I have not the least doubts 
of its truth, or I would be with you by the time you re- 
ceive this letter. 

I received a letter from a lady in your vicinity, who 
claimed to be my wife, and as I am married again, I must 
sya that it has caused me some annoyance, as I should not 
like to have my wife annoyed in such a manner. I would 
advise you to send the lady back to the asylum at once, 
and save further trouble. 

Yburs, 

Mr. L. Bray^ 

Glenwood Springs, Colo.” 

Mrs. Bray sat as if turned to stone; then gathering her 
senses like a drowning person grasps at a straw, she begged 


— 113 — 


for them to wait until they could hear from the asylum. She 
pleaded for them to write tO' the officers and tell them of their 
mistake and see if they would investigate it and find out the 
truth. 

The sheriff saw how changed she looked since she had 
heard the letter, and he felt as if he had given her her death 
blow, and in true sympathy for the woman whom he believed 
to be insane, he promised to give her another chance, and he 
would write at once ,and that she could rest assured that he 
would not send her back until he could hear from the officers 
of the asylum, and it would be more than a week before he 
could take any steps in the matter. 

Turning with a sad face and a broken heart, she returned to 
her room to give way to her grief in bitter tears, but soon she 
was up and pacing the room as if, indeed, she was mad. 

''Oh, what have I done that I must suffer so? Am I de- 
serted by those I love? Am I dead to them and all the world? 
Am I so soon forgotten? My husband married again, and I 
must not annoy them. I am nothing to him now ! I might as 
well be dead — or back in the asylum, for if I am sane now, I 
soon will be mad! Yes, mad! for am I not forgotten by all I 
hold dear ? Ah, my child ! my Helen ! has she, too, forgotten 
her mother? Can a child forget its parent as soon as a hus- 
band can forget his wife? Has she, too>, become consoled by 
another? No; I will not believe it! and for her sake I will 
still fight for freedom! If possible, I will go to her! What if 
her young mind is being taught to forget me, or, worse, still, 
is being abused by the woman who has taken my place in her 
father’s heart and home, and she may now be needing a true 
mother’s care? Yes, I will go to her or die in the attempt!” 

Her tried nerves were exhausted and throwing herself upon 
the bed once more, gave way to tears. Eva putting her arms 
around her neck, caressing her said : 


— 114 — 


‘'Do not cry, dear mamma ; I am with you and they shall not 
take me away from you/’ 

“My dear child, I must not be separated from you, for I 
alone can place you where you belong. My dear Eva, I am 
not your own mamma, but until I find your own mamma, you 
shall be a daughter to me. You are all I have now, for I may 
never see my own daughter again !” 

So saying, she took Eva in her arms and pressed her to her 
bosom, and lying there caressing each other they both feel 
asleep. 

Slowly the week dragged by, and Mrs. Bray’s nerves were 
strained to their utmost. She could not remain a moment in 
one place and paced her room like a caged lioness. Her mind 
was constantly on her home and husband. She wondered what 
the woman was like, who had married her husband. She could 
not think of her as a woman who might have been wronged, 
like herself. 

Eva spent the time among the children of the camp. They 
all having burros to* ride which belonged to the miners, and on 
these they would ridei for hours at a time, and it was with 
much persuasion that Eva could be induced to come tO‘ her 
meals. She had now become a typical western girl, through 
living in Arizona. She did not know what fear was, and 
once, when a mountain lion came to the camp, she wanted to 
go out and drive it away; she was afraid that it would hurt 
“Dick,” that being her favorite burro’s name. 

At last the week was gone, and with the stage came a letter. 
Mrs. Bray was again called in, and again she sat down to 
listen to her doom. She saw at once by the face of the sheriff, 
that there was no hopes for her. Sitting with wild eyes and 
clinched hands she gazed at the sheriff, while with trembling 
voice he read the letter before him : 


— 115 - 


‘‘To the Sheriff of the Arizona Coal Mines. 

Dear Sir: — In answer to your letter which is now be- 
fore me. That is nothing more than I expected, but we 
thought the change might do' her good. It is not uncom- 
mon for an insane person to imagine themselves to be 
some other person. No doubt the constant companion- 
ship with the woman, Mrs. Bray, has caused her mind to* 
take that turn. We are ready to* receive her back as soon 
as convenient for you to bring her. 

In regard to the little girl, we might find a home for her 
near by. 

Yours, 

R. G. Kimbi^k/' 

Mrs. Bray understood every word and knew what it 
meant to her. In despair she cried out : 

‘‘Am I to be taken back to the asylum 

“There is no alternative, and you, Mrs. Rainor, will pre- 
pare her for the journey. Tomorrow the stage starts for the 
east at noon ; you will see that she is ready by that time.^’ 
Mrs. Bray arose, staggered toward the door, then with a 
long wailing cry, she fell senseless tO' the floor. 

She was tenderly raised and carried to her room, Mrs. Rai- 
nor being left to guard her. She lay unconscious for some 
time. When she came too she found Mrs. Rainor watching 
her. She told her that she was better, and Mrs. Rainor left 
her to sleep. 

Going to her some time later and finding her asleep, she at 
once retired to her own couch for the night. 

Mrs. Bray had not been sleeping but only feigning sleep. 
When she heard the heavy breathing of Mrs. Rainor, she arose 
cautiously and attired herself in Mrs. Rainor’s dress, not omit- 
ting her shawl and bonnet. Then going to Eva she gently 


-lie- 


aroused her, whispering in her ear to keep silent, but to follow 
her. Taking Eva by the hand she quietly went out of the 
room, but now her greatest fear was that the jailer would not 
let her pass. As she entered the outer hall she found the man 
fast asleep. On her entering he aroused up, but seeing it was 
Mrs. Rainor, as he thought her to be, he settled back for an- 
other nap. 

Mrs. Bray soon unlocked the door which was only fastened 
with a bolt on the inside. They were soon out in the open 
air. Hurrying away, they soon left the jail far behind, disap- 
pearing in the darkness. 


CHAPTER XXHI. 

THK DE^TECTlVi: riNDS A CrUE). 

Clarence had just received a letter from his mother and 
was hastening along the street, toward the telegraph office. 
He was going now to tell her not to come, as he had made up 
his mind to leave Glenwood at once. He had failed in finding 
out anything of the Martin family so' far, sO' had about given 
up the search. 

Wishing to get away as soon as possible, so as to avoid meet- 
ing Helen and her lover. He had heard of his return and his 
good fortune. As he hurried along, not heeding whom he met, 
he was jostled by someone. Turning he beheld Frank Alton, 
above all others that he did not wish to see. 

‘‘Hello, young man! what’s the hurry?” 

“What business is that to you?” exclaimed Clarence in a 
passion. 

“Oh, nothing! I thought by your speed that you were go- 
ing for a doctor; that perhaps someone was dying.” 

“What if there is? What business have you in stopping 
me? Let me pass ; I have nothing to say to you, sir!” 


— 117 — 


“Very well; I have something to say to you, and as I do 
not wish to attract the attention of the people on the street, 
supposing you invite me to your room, as it is near by, where 
we can talk without being distrubed. I should invite you to 
my room, but at the present time I am rooming at the “Bray 
Mansion,” as you perhaps know. I am considered as one of 
family there, but as it is some distance away, I think it would 
be preferable to go to your room.” 

“Won’t some other time do'as well? I am in a great hurry 
at present; call around tomorrow.” 

“But I am in somewhat of a hurry, too, and must talk with 
you tonight; I want to take tonight’s train for the “Junction,” 
and cannot wait until tomorrow.” 

“Very w^ell; then follow me!” 

He had done his best to avoid a talk with his rival, for he 
had intended to take the evening train for the east, thus avoid- 
ing a meeting. 

On entering Clarence’s room at the hotel, he offered a seat 
to Frank Alton, while he seated himself opposite him. Frank 
Alton, seeing a box of cigars on the center table, he deliber- 
ately helped himself, saying : 

“I believe I will take a smoke; I left my case in my room 
(offering a cigar to Clarence). Won’t you take a smoke with 
me?” 

“No, thanks; I do not care to smoke,” replied Clarence in- 
dignantly, as he thought to himself — “Catch me smoking with 
an enemy!” 

“I suppose, then, I will have to smoke alone, if you won’t 
smoke with me.” Then lighting his cigar, he crossed his 
legs and tipped back in his chair as unconcerned as a welcome 
visitor. 

Clarence was becoming very uneasy and anxious to be rid 
of his guest. He arose and began walking the floor, as the 


— 118 — 


man seemed to be so much at ease, and not in such a hurry, 
after all. 

''Will you proceed with your business? Remember I am 
waiting and the time is passing,’’ and he took out his watch 
and looked hurriedly at the time. 

"That is so; I beg your pardon! You were in a hurry to 
go somewhere, I believe, when I met you. May I ask why 
you were in such a hurry ? Being a man of my business, I am 
always interested when I see a man in a great hurry.” 

"Well, if you must know, I was on my way to the tele- 
graph office to send a telegram to my mother,” replied Clar- 
ence, sarcastically.” 

"And why the hurry; is there anything wrong?” 

"No, nothing in particular; only I am looking for her com- 
ing and I wish to prevent her, as I shall return east at once.” 

"Well, a day more or less won’t make any difference, and 
as I have some particular business with you I must beg your 
attention for the present. Helen and I have been speaking of 
you, and she tells me that you are searching for a family by 
the name of Martin; may I ask why you wish to find them ?” 

"That was the business that called me here, but I have failed 
to hear anything of them, so will leave at once.’’ 

"You may think me rather inquisitive about your business, 
but as I am also in search of a family by t!\ar name, I nat- 
urally wish to know your reasons.” 

"I am not at liberty to tell my reasons, as I am working in 
secret. Knowing that Miss Bray was an old resident, I thought 
perhaps she might have heard of a family by that name, if 
they had come to Glenwood to reside.” 

"Yes ; and I, too, have told my business to Helen, and that 
is how we came to speak of you, and now that we are no doubt 
in search of the same family, our interests must be somewhat 
the same.” 


- 119 — 


“Perhaps you have some objections in telling why you are 
in search of this family?’’ 

“Well, I should have in telling anyone else, but I feel that 
we are working for the same object, and by comparing notes 
we might help one another.” 

“As far as I am concerned, I do not ask your help and un- 
less I know your business, I dO' not propose to help you.” 

“Come, now, we might as well be friends, and you lead me 
to believe that it would not be agreeable to you.” 

“Yes, you are right there; you and I can never be friends.” 

“And, pray, why not? What have I done to gain your ill 
will? Are not our interests in the same direction? Are we 
not after the same woman ?” 

“Yes; we are after the same woman, but you have won her, 
and I have given up the chase, and that is why we can never 
be friends.” 

“Oh! there is where the trouble is, is it? There seems to 
be a misunderstanding between us; let us talk it over, and I 
think we will understand each other better.” 

“I will not discuss the matter with you, and if you have no 
other business to discuss, we will bring this subject to a close, 
and oblige me by leaving my presence; you cannot help know- 
ing that your presence is annoying to me!” 

“But, my dear sir, it has not been annoying to me; quite 
to the contrary. I have been very much gratified by it.” 

“What! Do you mean to insult me? I will not stand this! 
Do you see that door? You will oblige me by going at 
once!” 

“But I am not ready to go.” 

“Then I will make you ready!” and going tO' the bell, was 
about to give it a vigorous pull, when Frank called out : 

“Hold, my friend! you have not heard my story. Sit 
down and I will tell you something you will be glad to hear!’" 


— 120 — 


‘‘Very well, then; proceed at once; I want no more non- 
sense!’' 

“Well, to begin, Lam a detective in the employ of a man who 
is now in England. My business is to find a family by the 
name of Martin, which I have traced to this country. They 
are supposed to have in their possession a little child belong- 
ing to the man, who' has employed me, arid I am to find a 
woman by the name of Josephine Rollins, who* is supposed 
to have changed this child for that of Mrs. Martin’s.” 

“The man who has employed you, then, is Baron Walton?” 

“Yes; what is he to you?” 

“He is my stepfather, and the child you are in search of is 
my sister!” 

“What? Then, indeed, we are here on the same business, 
and our interests are the same. Surely, now, we should be 
the best of friends, and help each other.” 

“What! be a friend to the man who is to marry the girl 
I love? Never!” 

“Come, come, my friend; for such you shall be, whether 
or no, as I am determined to have your friendship if I have 
to jilt the girl.” 

“How dare you speak so of the girl I love? Jilt her if 
you dare! and I will make you suffer for it, for if she can 
never be mine, I will not see her jilted by a scoundrel like 
you!” 

“All right, my friend; but you have not let me complete 
my story. As I was saying, I was here to find the woman, 
Josephine Rollins, who 1 have reason to believe is in this 
place, but the Martin family I have traced to Arizona, where 
I intended to start this night, but now I have met you, you 
can help me identify Josephine Rollins. As she was an in- 
mate of your mother’s house, you surely can identify her.” 

“No; I have never seen her. I was away at college during 


- 121 - 


the four years of her stay as a servant in my mother's house.” 

‘‘Then I am baffled again ! for I was sure that, between us, 
we could identify her. Have you no suspicions of any of the 
ladies you have met in Glenwood ?” 

“No-; I must say that I have not; in fact, I have made but 
few acquaintances, and only they of the best families.” 

“But, sometimes the worst criminals are found among the 
‘best families,' as you call them, and if you were a detective 
and followed the business as long as I have, there is where 
you would go to find a woman like Josephine Rollins.” 

“Then you suspect someone among our acquaintances?” 

“Yes; and I have taken Helen Bray into my confidence, and 
she is helping me in my work.” 

“Rather early to set her to work tO' help you win fame and 
a few dollars. A man as rich as you are I should think would 
resign his position.” 

“But that is just it; I am not wealthy; I am a poor man, and 
only have my salary to live on.” 

“What! and you have palmed yourself off on Miss Bray 
as a millionaire?” 

“No, I have not deceived Helen; although I have her 
parents.” 

“Do you mean to say that Helen knew you to be a poor 
man, and promised to be your wife? I will not believe it! 
While thinking you were a millionaire I could excuse her for 
accepting you, but as for marrying you for love, it is quite 
another thing. There is something else that has been brought 
to bear on her that has forced her into an engagement with 
you !” 

“Yes; I will admit that I have persuaded her into an en- 
gagement, in order that we could work more readily, and ac- 
complish more, and with her help I am sure I will be suc- 
cessful.” 


— 122 — 


‘‘You villian! how dare you to persuade an innocent girl 
into such an engagement? How was she to know how much 
she was to lose by such an act ? She might now be the prom- 
ised bride of one who loves her and whom she loves, if it 
were not for your villianous actions!” 

“Why, my dear sir! do you think she loves another?” 

“Think? Why, I know she does, and if it were not for her 
promise to you, she would now be my promised wife, instead 
of yours!” 

“How do you know that; have you asked her to be your 
wife?” 

“No, not exactly; I was saved the humiliation of being re- 
fused, by her stepmother, who informed me of her engage- 
ment to you.” 

“Then, my dear fellow, I would not take a refusal' until I 
had asked, and you take my advice and gO' to her, and be sure 
you ask.” 

“What! ask a lady who is the promised wife of another? 
No, sir; I will not disgrace my manhood in such a way!” 

“But she is not the promised wife of anyone, and if you do 
not go and ask her to be yours, I fear she never will be !” 

“Do you mean to say that you have released her from the 
engagement ?” 

“No; but I mean to say that we never were really engaged; 
only pretended tO' be so as to deceive her parents. The fact 
is, my dear friend, you see I will call you so whether you will 
have it that way or not, I wished to become intimately ac- 
quainted with Helen's stepmother, and in order to become so, 
I must be on intimate terms with Helen, so we agreed to a 
pretended engagement in order that I might come and go at 
will at their house.” 

“But why this pretended engagement? What has it to do 
with your business? Why do you want to be on such inti- 


— 123 —. 


mate terms with Helen’s stepmother? Surely you do not sus- 
pect her in any way concerning this business of yours?” 

‘‘Yes, Clarence Reading; I do suspect her and as far as my 
proof goes, she is no' other than Josephine Rollins herself!” 

“Helen’s stepmother, Josephine Rollins? Impossible!” 

“No, it is not impossible, and now we must work quietly 
and cautiously, and not let her know that we suspect her until 
we are sure. You must write for your mother to come at 
once, for only through her can we identify her. I will start 
at once to Arizona to find the Martin family and bring them 
here also, while you go- and make love to- Helen and make 
yourself agreeable to her stepmother, and in the meantime 
guard our secret carefully. I will now say good night; may 
I say ‘friend,’ Clarence?” 

“Oh, forgive my rash words, if you can ! From this mo- 
ment we are friends, indeed !” 

“Then, good night, my dear friend.” 


-j 


— 124 — 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE COAE MINES. 

Mrs. Bray and Eva hastened on through the intense dark- 
ness, stumbling now and then over fallen pines and rocks, at 
last coming upon a small trail, which they followed. They 
soon learned that it was taking them up a steep mountainside. 
As it grew lighter with the break of day, they found them- 
selves near a coal mine. 

Mrs. Bray, anxious to get away from her guards, carei bul 
little whither she was going; only to get away was her first 
thought. 

Being now some distance from the village, she began to 
wonder where she could go next. Eva now began to com- 
plain of being tired, so they both seated themselves on a fallen 
tree to take a little rest. 

Eva now wished for her burro, ‘‘Dick,” as she had often 
ridden him over this same trail, and she found it much easier 
riding than walking. Mrs. Bray's thoughts were of how the 
people at the camp would act on finding her gone. She now 
began to wonder how soon they would be on her trail. 

Soon a sound was heard of someone coming along the 
trail. She was about to start and run, when the words of a 
song came ringing out upon the morning air, but as she arose 
to her feet and grasping Eva by the hand, a man came in 
view only a short distance from her. On seeing Mrs. Bray 
he took off his hat and made her a polite bow, saying: 

“Good morning, madam; you are out early for a morning 
walk. I thought you were to go away today.” 

“Oh, sir ! I w^ant to go away, but not back to the asylum. I 
am not insane and I want to go to my friends. I have run 
away, and mean to keep in hiding until the stage leaves ; then 
I will try and get back to my friends if I have to walk all the 
way.” 


— 125 — 


‘‘But, my dear madam, you could not walk all the way. If 
there was nothing else to detain you, it would be dangerous on 
account of wild animals that infest the mountains, and you 
could not get anything to eat on the way, as the stopping 
places are far between and a day's travel for the stage from 
one to the other." 

Mrs. Bray now began to get discouraged, and with a look 
of terror in her eyes, she pleadingly said : 

“Oh, sir, help me! Believe me, I am' not insane. I must 
not be taken back to the asylum, for I would lose my last 
chance of being identified. No one will know me there, and 
once within those walls, and I am lost forever! But if I can 
only get to my husband and child, who now believe me dead, 
they will know and recognize me, and by them alone can I be 
restored to my proper place. Oh, help me to do what is right; 
help me to prove my identity; let me restore this little child 
to her own parents, who may now be searching the world over 
for her! I, alone, can prove her identity, for she was stolen 
when a baby. Jack Martin made a confession to me before he 
died, and I have tried in vain to make the sheriff hear my story, 
but he will not listen to me, as he believes me mad ; but, as 
God is my witness, I am as sane as he!" 

“My dear woman, I do not doubt your sanity, and if I can 
lielp you, I will ; have you any money to pay your passage on 
the stage? If you have, I will see that vou get away, all 
right." 

Again a look of pain o'erspread the face of Mrs. Bray. Oh, 
no, sir! I haven't a cent; if I had I could take the noon stage 
for the west. I could go as far as the junction, and then take 
the train for Glenwood, but as I have no money, I will have 
to make my way on foot." 

“But I could not think of allowing you to do such a thing; 


- 126 - 


it would be certain death to you both. Sit here, my dear 
woman, until I return, and I will see what I can do' for you. 

I am the foreman of this mine; I will gO' to the mines and see 
if I can raise enough for you to get away. The miners are a 
clever set of boys, and I will try and arouse their sympathy in . 
your behalf.’’ 

Then, leaving Mrs. Bray and Eva sitting alone in the woods, 
he hastened on to the mines. 

We will now return to the discovery of Mrs. Bray’s escape 
by the people at the jail. The sheriff, on finding that she was 
missing, soon ordered a posse and went in pursuit, some going 
in one direction and some another, there being only twO' roads 
leaving the camp — one in an easterly and one westerly di-^ 
rection. There was an old trail that had been used before the. 
stage road was made, but no one traveled it now. It crossed 
the mountains through a wild, rough country, and was very 
dangerous, now that no travel passed that way. The sheriff’s 
posse having traveled half a day on the stage road, and not 
seeing anything of the fugitives, cut across the country and 
returned by the old trail, and did not arrive back at camp until 
late that night. They had traveled slowly and watched for 
every corner in which the fugitives might hide, and by so do- 
ing they missed the out-going stage for the west. 

After the foreman of the mines had left Mrs. Bray, she at 
once began to think of some plan to escape. She was not sure 
that she had ought to trust the man. She was now very ner- 
vous and ready to start at the slightest noise. 

The foreman, on entering the mine, found about forty 
sturdy miners at work, some with picks and shovels, others with 
wheelbarrows, others filling boxes that were to be hauled 
out by the famous burros. The men, on seeing their foreman, 
greeted him with applause, as he was a great favorite among 
them. He then called their attention, which caused all to 


— 127 — 


Stop work, while he made known his wants. 

“Well, boys, I wish to speak to you, and I hope I have all 
your attention. You remember the poor woman who was 
tried for her sanity and is to be sent to the asylum today ? You 
also have expressed your opinion as to her sanity, and with 
me, believe she is perfectly sane, but could not help her at the 
time. We all think it wrong to send this poor woman back 
to the asylum. Now, what I propose to do’, is this, that we all 
throw in and pay her stage fare and give her enough to buy 
her railroad ticket for home. I will give twenty-five dollars, 
who will swell the sum? She is now waiting outside for 
what we can give her.’’ 

Then, passing his hat around, he said : 

“That’s right, boys, ‘chip in’ ; it is for a good cause.” 

Every one donated handsomely, while some began singing, 
then one cried out : 

“Come, now; you can’t expect money for nothing; give 
us a song.” 

“Yes, yes, a song!” came from half a dozen throats. “We 
must have a song !” 

“All right,” replied the foreman, as he mounted a lump 
of coal, and with a stage bow, began singing, while the miners 
joined in the chorus : 

“DOWN IN THE COAL MINE.” 

“They call us dirty miners, underneath the ground, 

And some are sure to slur us, whene’er they come around. 
But little do we care or know, what others say of us. 

We are a jolly set of boys, and never make a fuss. 

Chorus. 

Down in a coal mine, we are always found. 

Here from morn till evening, at work from night till morn. 
Digging the black diamonds, where they most abound, 
Down in a coal mine, underneath the ground. 


— 128 — 


Though our faces are always black, from digging in the coal, 

Our hearts are pure and free from taint, as unalloyed gold. 

With friends we always will do right, though it cost us 
many a care; 

There is nothing for a friend in need, we would not do 
or dare. 

Chorus. 

There’s many a fair lady who would scorn to touch our 
hand. 

Although we work for their comfort, and others in our 
land ; 

Yet there are some, that we all love, who' would gladly 
accept the same; 

They are the queens of all our hearts, and some now bear 
our name. 

Chorus. 

Then let our mottoes be, ‘‘Do good when e’er we can” ; 

Never let a lady stand in need of a man’s helping hand. 

Come forward, boys ! and freely give that which will make 
her glad. 

And cheer the heart that with sorrow is now cast down 
and sad. 

Chorus. 

Then join with me and e’er we go, we’lh fill one heart 
with glee. 

For with the money we will give, her own dear home 
she’ll see; 

She, with her friends and kindred dear, once more be filled 
with joy. 

And forever bless the dark coal mines and dirty miner 
boys.” 


— 129 — 


The song finished, the foreman got down, and bowing low 
to his smiling admirers, he started out. 

When Mrs. Bray saw him coming, she was much overcome 
with gratitude on seeing him holding his hat in his hands, and 
as he came up to her he gently emptied the contents in her 
lap. 

'‘Now, my dear lady, if we make haste we can catch the 
stage on the road, as it is leaving for the west.” 

Mrs. Bray was too full for utterance, and with tears in 
her eyes, she grasped the man's hand and pressed it to her 
lips in gratitude. Then taking Eva by the hand, they re- 
traced their footsteps down the narrow trail. 

On arriving at the foot of the mountain, they found they 
were just in time to catch the out-going stage. The foreman 
called to the driver, and soon Mrs. Bray and Eva were placed 
within, they being the only passengers. 

With a kind farewell to her new friend, she was soon alone 
with Eva. As the stage rolled along she once more gave way 
to her sorrow, and wept bitter tears. Oh, how long the day 
seemed as she dared not look back, for fear of seeing some- 
one in pursuit. Every moment was as hours tO' her. When 
they arrived at a station to change horses and eat their iin- 
ner, she could hardly control her anxiety to be going. At 
night they stopped again, but only long enough to change 
horses and eat supper, then on they went. They were to travel 
all night. 

Eva cuddled down in her seat for a sleep, while occasionally 
Mrs. Bray would get a short nap. 

Thus the night and following day were spent, arriving at 
the junction the next night. They stopped at a hotel, where 
they engaged a room. Both being now nearly worn out with 
their long ride, they soon retired for a good night's rest. 


— 130 — 


The next morning she was up early, and on going down for 
her breakfast, she was presented with her bill. Putting her 
hand in her pocket for her money — it was gone! She had 
tied it up in a handkerchief as she had no purse, and during 
the night she had been robbed. 

‘‘Oh, sir, I have been robbed!’’ she cried in great distress. 
^‘I have no money to pay you!” 

“Come, come,” said the proprietor, “you don’t fool me that 
way. How much money had you?” 

“I had fifty dollars last night, when I retired, and now I 
haven’t a cent!” she exclaimed in despair. “Oh, what shall 
I do? How am I to- ever get home?” 

“You do not look like a woman who carried that much 
money about you!” he answered, with scorn, as he gazed at 
her shabby attire. “Come, now, you can’t play that game 
on me. If you have no money, then you have no breakfast 
here, so, begone at once!” 

Mrs. Bray was dumbfounded. Hfingry and without money, 
she was turned out into the street. Taking Eva by the hand 
they wandered around, she knew not where. Eva now began 
to cry for something to eat. At last, worn and weary, they 
stopped a moment to rest. Sitting down on the edge of the 
walk she rocked to and fro in her great distress. 

She did not dare to even ask the way she wished to go, for 
fear of being arrested and taken back. Oh, what shall I do? 
Here I am an outcast and a beggar. I dare not even ask for 
aid ! but must gO' on, for if I stop I shall call the police down 
on me. Oh, why am I thus driven to despair? Others are 
enjoying luxury which, by rights, is mine. I have a home and 
friends, but another fills my place. Oh, why is such injustice 
permitted? Why are the innocent made to suffer the faults 
of others?” 

Eva began to cry once more for food. 


— 131 — 


‘'Hush, child! There is a man coming this way. I must 
not let him see my face,’’ and pulling her old sunbonnet more 
closely over her face she waited for him to go by. But he 
stopped; he was now speaking to her. 

“My dear woman, you seem to be in trouble; can I do any- 
thing for you?” 

“Oh, ask him for something to eat ! I am nearly starved 1’^ 
exclaimed Eva. 

“Are you hungry, little girl? .Then come with me; I am 
just going to dinner, and we will dine together.” 

“Oh, come, mamma; I know you are hungry too.” Then 
turning to the man, “You will give mamma something, too, 
won’t you ?” 

“Yes, to be sure; come my good woman, we can all dine 
together; I am a stranger in this place, and will enjoy some 
company at my dinner. I suppose you, too, are a stranger. 
I saw you arrive on the stage last night, and as I was a guest 
at the same hotel, I could not help noticing you.” 

“Then you know my treatment at the hotel?” exclaimed 
Mrs. Bray. 

“Yes; I overheard the proprietor when he ordered you out, 
and I have come to ask you to dine with me.” 

Then I will go-, for the child’s sake; as for me, I feel as 
though I could never eat again.” 

Taking Eva by the hand, she followed the stranger back 
to the hotel. i 


— 132 — 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HEI.EN AND CLARENCE. 

After Frank Alton had left Clarence at his room, he hasr- 
tened to the Brays’ home and packed his ‘‘grip/’ then went in 
search of Helen. He found her at her music, and told her of 
is intended trip. “You can now take Clarence into your con- 
fidence, for we have had a talk ^nd I find that we are on the 
same business. We are in search of the same child, which he 
claims is his sister, and we will now work together. He will 
remain here and watch how things go, while I gO' to Arizona 
in search of the Martin family.” 

“What! Clarence not going away, then?” exclaimed Helen 
in surprise. 

“No, not at present; and I will leave him for you to enter- 
tain until my return.” 

“But he said that he never wanted to see my face again.” 

“Oh, I guess he’s changed his mind since then. You will 
see him again soon, and now I will leave you, and again warn 
you to guard our secret, and I am sure of success.” 

Helen shook him warmly by the hand, wishing him a suc- 
cessful journey. 

Clarence was not long in making his appearance before 
Helen, and when he asked her to* be his wife, she did not hesi- 
tate in answering “Yes,” and they were very happy once 
more. 

Frank Alton had been gone several days when Mr. Bray 
made his appearance very unexpectedly. Helen was much 
concerned at first, as her father did not know how affairs 
stood at home. He still thought her the promised wife of 
Frank Alton. He had learned of his sudden rise to wealth 
and as he had failed himself, he intended to call on him to 
help him out of his difficulty. On finding that his wife had 


— 133 — 


only run him still more heavily in debt, it enraged him, for 
she had refurnished the house throughout and gone to a great 
expense in preparing for the coming of the baroness. She 
had invited Clarence to bring his mother tO' her house to stay 
while she remained in Glenwood. She was now all bustle 
and hurry, and Mr. Bray had come right in the midst o-f it 
all. She knew that he would disapprove of her expenditures, 
so with much ado, she told him that Frank Alton was to let 
her have money on his return and that she could settle every- 
thing. Mr. Bray, thinking that Frank Alton was to marry 
Helen, was soon reconciled. 

Thus the work and bustle went on ; more servants were added 
to the household, and it was a constant hurry and excitement 
from morning until night. 

Clarence and Helen were left to themselves, as Helen’s step- 
mother superintended all the work and refused any assist- 
ance whatever from Helen. She avoided both the young peo- 
ple and did her best to keep Mr. Bray from finding out the 
intimacy that was growing up between the two. As to her- 
self, she looked on with a great deal of satisfaction for another 
scheme was taking form in her aspiring brain. Now that Mr. 
Bray was so poor, if she failed to win Frank Alton’s confi- 
dence and not be successful in getting money from him, she 
knew she would be disgraced in the eyes of the people, as well 
as her husband’s. She now made up her mind to win Frank 
Alton for herself, as well as his money, if she could only in- 
fatuate him with herself, she would. At the last, when it came 
to the worst, she would elope with him. 

Thus she encouraged Clarence’s attention to Helen. She 
understood their attachment and was glad of Frank Alton’s 
absence, as it gave Clarence a chance to win Helen from him. 

Mr. Bray was in ignorance of the deception going on around 
him. Had he known Clarence’s attachment for Helen, he 


— 134 — 


would have forbade him coming to- the house, but Helen was 
full of praise for Frank Alton, even before Clarence, so her 
father was soon deceived as to the true state of affairs. 

The excitement was fast telling on Helen's stepmother. 
She was never still, and often while going hurriedly from one 
room to another, she was seen to put her hand to her heart as 
if in pain. The color was leaving her cheeks; she never 
seemed to sleep; up at break of day, and from morning until 
night she wandered around the house to see if everything was 
in its place. Her servants were new and required a great deal 
of watching. 

Mr. Bray returned to Leadville, not finding Frank Alton in 
Glenwood, as his business was in such straightened circum- 
stances he was obliged to attend to it at once with the inten- 
tion of returning as soon as Frank Alton returned from 
Arizona. 


- 136 — 


CHAPTER XXVL 
“a friend in need/'’ 

As Mrs. Bray returned to the hotel with her newly-found 
friend, they were not aware of a rough-looking man watching 
them closely. 

Frank Alton, for it was he who had befriended them, now 
gave orders for dinner, which was soon placed before them. 
Eva began eating at once, for she was very hungry. But Mrs. 
Bray only supped her coffee. While Frank ate heartily, as he 
had a good appetite for his late dinner. They were uncon- 
scious of a man’s presence, standing near an open window 
just back of them, eagerly listening to what they might say. 

At last the meal was finished and Frank turned to Mrs. 
Bray and asked : 

“You have been traveling some distance; may I ask where 
you are from?” 

“I came from a mining camp in Arizona and am now on 
my way home. East night I was robbed of all my money, 
and now I am compelled to remain here, or try to walk the 
balance of my way.” 

“Where were you going?” 

“I am on my way to Glenwood Springs, Colorado.” 

“Have you friends there? I just came from Glenwood and 
I may know them.” 

“I did have,” exclaimed Mrs. Bray, excitedly. “Did you 
know Miss Helen Bray? She niust a young lady by this 
time.” 

“Why, yes! I am personally acquainted with her; she is 
one of Glenwood’s most beautiful young ladies; in fact, the 
most popular. Her father being very wealthy gives her many 
advantages. Did you know the family ? She has a step- 


— 136 — 


mother now, and she makes the home very miserable for 
Helen/’ 

'‘How dare she? The imposter!” Then quickly checking 
herself, for fear of his noticing her agitation, she turned to 
Eva. "Come, child, we must go. Haven’t you eaten enough ?” 

Eva, who was eating away, paying not attention to- what was 
going on, now began to fill her mouth as fast as she .could, 
saying : 

"Wait till I eat this,” and hastily went on eating. 

Frank noticed the agitation of Mrs. Bray at the mention 
of Helen’s stepmother, and became interested at once. 

"You said you came from Arizona. Was it a coal mining 
camp you came from?” 

Mrs. Bray hesitated to answer, then arose as if to go. 

Still watching her closely, he said : 

"My dear woman, do not be in a hurry; let the little girl 
finish her dinner.” 

"But, my dear sir, we are keeping you.” 

"Oh, that is all right; the stage will not leave for an hour 
yet, and as you have just come over the same road as I am 
going, I wish to ask you some questions concerning it.” 

Mrs. Bray, now seeing that she could not avoid telling him 
something concerning herself, sat down with nervous hesita- 
tion. 

"My dear sir; as it cannot be any object for you to know 
from whence I came, will you be kind enough not to ask me 
any questions, as I am a much persecuted woman, and am try- 
ing to get to my friends?” 

"My dear woman, I would not harm you in any way, but 
as it is a long ride and my business is so uncertain that it was 
for my own interests that I asked the question. I am in search 
of a woman by the name of Martin. I thought that perhaps 
you might have heard of her. She has been an inmate of the 


— 137 — 


asylum, but was taken to Arizona, to- a coal camp, two years 
ago/’ 

xA.s soon as the name of Martin was mentioned, Mrs. Bray 
sprang to her feet and was about to run from the room ; then, 
seeing it would be useless, she began pacing the floor and 
wringing her hands. 

^‘Oh, what shall I do? I am haunted on all sides. Oh, why 
am I tracked like a wild animal, and run down to my death ? 
Can I never escape from this horrid nightmare of suspicion?” 
Then, stopping before the detective, she said in bitter emo- 
tion : 

‘‘Oh, sir! do not betray me! Do- not take me back; I shall 
die!” 

“My dear woman, I have nothing to do with you; surely 
you are not Mrs.. Martin?” 

“No; I am not Mrs. Martin!” Then turning again as if 
to go-, he took her by the. hand. 

“You asked me if I knew Helen Bray; now, pray tell me, 
what is Helen Bray to you?” 

Mrs. Bray, with eyes filed with tears, said : 

“I am — her — mother!” 

“Helen Bray’s mother? Impossible! Helen’s mother is 
dead; she died two years ago at the asylum in Puebo.” 

“Yes ; I know the world believes it to be so-, and it also be- 
lieves that I am Mrs. Martin, who was also an inmate at the 
same time, and who it was that died instead of me!” 

“My dear woman, is it possible? Tell me all the particulars, 
and if it be indeed true, I am your friend and I will take you 
to your friends.” 

Mrs. Bray then told him her story, not even omitting Jack’s 
confession, and finished by saying: “If you have any doubts 
as to my identity, take me toi Helen. She will know her 
mother; she has not forgotten me, if her father has !’/ . , , 


— 138 — 


‘‘My dear lady, your husband is in ignorance of what has 
taken place. He was away from home when your letter ar- 
rived, and he has never seen it; someone else has answered it 
who does not want your identity known, and you, no doubt, 
know who it must have been.’’ 

“Then you think that my husband still loves me and that 
woman has not filled my place in his heart?” 

“No, she has not; and you will be welcomed back into your 
own home.” 

Frank Alton was now overjoyed at his success, for he did 
not doubt Mrs. Bray’s story, for she had told a straight story 
concerning Josephine Rollins and the child Eva. Mrs. Bray 
was delighted when she learned that he would pay their ex- 
penses on to Glenwood, as she had saved him a trip to the 
mines and he could now well afford it. 

Next morning they all boarded the train for Glenwood, un- 
conscious of the fact that two hard-looking men had followed 
them and taken the same train. 

Little Eva did not lack for food now, and during her jour- 
ney to Glenwood she was well supplied with nuts and fruit — 
something unusual for her to have — and, although she was 
dressed so shabbily, her shoes almost ready to drop off from 
her feet, her little toes peeping out; yet she was happy. 

It was her first car ride, as far as she could remember, and 
she opened her eyes in wonder at the engine and the elegantly 
furnished cars. 

Mrs. Bray’s dress was several sizes too large, and her only 
headgea:r was an old sunbonnet, yet she was unconscious of 
the curious eyes that were watching them. >She little cared 
for the' attraction she was causing her fellow travelers. She 
would have been the object of many remarks had it not been 
for the well-dressed gentleman by her side, who carefully 
looked after her wants, and took particular pains that she 


-ISO- 


had every comfort possible while traveling. As for her dress, 
she did not think of it, for it had been a long time since she 
had seen anyone dressed any better than herself. Her mind 
was on her home. The cars scarcely seemed to move, so great 
was her anxiety, and as the day passed and she neared Glen- 
wood, she became so nervous she could scarcely sit in her 
seat. 

Frank Alton had telegraphed the night before for Mr. Bray 
to meet him at the Springs, but did not inform him of any 
particulars. 

On their arrival at Glenwood, it was just five o'clock in the 
afternoon, and as Frank did not wish to take them immediately 
to the home of the Brays, for he wanted Helen to meet her 
mother before he took her there. He told her of his wishes, 
and they went to the pool, where a large crowd had already 
gathered, and leaving Mrs. Bray and Eva sitting on the stone 
steps watching the crowd, he started at once to the Bray 
mansion in search of Helen. 

It was a sight to be remembered for many years to Mrs. 
Bray. The band was playing in the grandstand of the bath- 
house; people were bathing in the pooh; others were wander- 
ing to and fro on the green lawn. There were the Amazon 
Guards marching and drilling, dressed in their bright uniforms. 
They were all young girls, bright and happy, making a pleas- 
ant sight as they marched on the open- green. 

Mrs. Bray watched them from her seat on the steps, so' en- 
wrapped that she was not aware that she was also being 
watched by twO' hard-looking ruffians, who had followed them 
from the junction. ^ 

As these two skulked along through the croWd they had 
taken a position back of Mrs. Bray, where they could keep 
an eye on her, unobserved. Soon the band stopped playing 
and the crowd began tO' disperse. It wa^ now getting dark 


— 140 — 


and everybody was hurrying from the grounds. The two men 
began tO' creep slowly toward Mrs. Bray. ‘‘There she is, and 
alone; now is our time, before the fellow comes back, and the 
grounds are almost vacated. Have you the shawl 

“Yes; here it is. Now, when I throw it over her head you 
grab the child and run for the canon. You remember the old 
cabin I showed you awhile ago? Take her there, and I will 
make my escape in an opposite direction, and fool them. We 
must not make a mistake; she is a bonanza, I tell you, and a 
big reward will be offered, then we can show her up and get 
the money. Her parents are big guns. I tell you, we did 
not miss anything in eavesdropping that time, and the fifty 
dollars we gobbled onto that night helped us out, and now if 
our luck holds out, we will have more money than we will 
know what to do with.’' 

“You must look out for the police, as they may have a 
say in this!” 

“Oh, the police! who cares for the police? I ain't afraid 
of forty police; they would all be drunk and could not see in 
this twilight!” 

They now were close to Mrs. Bray who was just saying to- 
Eva, “Oh, I wish they would come! It seems hours since 
he left, and I am so anxious to see my darling child. Hark !; 
there they come, now. Oh, I am so glad!” 

At that moment a shawl was thrown over her head and a 
rough voice said, 

“Make a noise and I will strangle you!” 

Then someone was pulling Eva from her arms. She held 
on tightly, while Eva was screaming at the top of her voice 
and clinging to her. Bringing all her strength together and 
struggling for breath, she at last wrenched the shawl to one 
side and gave a cry of “Murder! murder!” and was again 
smothered with the shawl. 


— 141 — 


There was a rush of many feet around her, and Eva had 
ceased her cries, but was still clinging tO' her. Then, once 
more struggling to free herself, she heard a voice cry out : 

‘'Halt! you villians! or your deaths be on your own hands 

“Great God!'' came from both men, just as Mrs. Bray un- 
covered her head, and there, before her eyes, was a sight that 
almost took what little breath she had left. 

The electric lights had been suddenly turned on, and it 
was now almost as light as day, and before her stood two 
villianous looking men, staring before them as if paralyzed. 
They were surrounded on all sides by about twenty Amazons 
with their glittering uniforms and their bayonets drawn, each 
one pointing at the twO' men, who* were now making attempts 
to get away. They could not take a step before a dozen bay- 
onets would come in so close a contact with their persons that 
they quailed in fear. One turned so quickly that he upset his 
companion and both fell sprawling to the ground, and one 
called out, “In the name of God! what are they?" 

“Devils !" cried the other. “Devils in disguise!" 

“You mean angels in disguise, don't you?" came in a strong 
voice from the captain, as she turned to look at Mrs. Bray, 
who now stood staring at her. 

At the sound of Helen’s voice, for it was she, Mrs. Bray 
arose to her feet and stood with clasped hands, gazing at 
Helen's face. Then a wild cry escaped her lips. 

“My child! my child!” o 

Helen gazed for a moment at the woman before her, then, 
throwing down her gun, rushed into her mother's arms with 
a cry — “My mother! my mother!" and they were clasped in 
one long embrace. 

At this moment Frank Alton appeared upon the scene. He 
was dumb with surprise. He could not imagine what had 
taken place. 


— 142 — 


The two men, now thinking they might escape, made a 
rush for liberty, but they were soon brought to a standstill by 
the Amazons. At last one, completely dumbfounded, ex- 
claimed : 

‘‘These must be the kind of police they have in Glenwood ! 
and I think there are forty!'' 

Frank asked for explanations, and Mrs. Bray told him that 
they were trying to steal Eva, when she was rescued by Helen 
and her companions. 

Helen then told him how they were returning from their 
drill, when she espied the two men trying to smother her 
mother and wrenching Eva from her arms. She had heard 
both of them scream. They rushed forward just in time to 
save them, and now wanted to know what they should do 
with their prisoners. 

Frank then notified them that he was an officer of the law, 
and he would now arrest them for attempted kidnapping, and 
ordered them to walk on and he would take them to jail. 

Helen then told her comrades to join the detective in taking 
them tO' prison, and they fell in line, two deep, on each side 
of the two men, and marched along. If the men took a step 
outside from a straight line, the Amazons' sharp bayonets 
would prick their legs, and this caused much merriment among 
the girls. 

Arriving at the jail, both men were put behind the bars to 
await their trial. 

The Amazons then marched back to their headquarters and 
disbanded, going to their homes. 

Helen, being left with her mother, soon ordered a carriage, 
and placing her mother and Eva within, was quickly driven to 
the home of the Brays. 


— 143 — 


CHAPTER XXVIL 

THE^ ARRIVAI. OF BARON WAI.TON. 

Frank Alton was welcomed very cordially by Helen’s step- 
mother, and learned that Helen was then away from home. 

‘T am expecting the baron and baroness to dine with us 
this evening, and would be pleased to have your presence 
also.” 

‘‘Then they have arrived?” exclaimed Frank Alton in sur- 
prise. 

“Yes; they arrived today, and Clarence has promised me 
that they would all dine with me this evening.” 

“Then I will not fail to come.” 

“Are you acquainted with the baron and his wife?” 

“I have met the baron, but not his wife.” 

“Very well; don’t be late, as it is near six now. I must 
dress for dinner. I must look my prettiest, and not be out- 
shone by a baroness !” she laughingly said. 

“Look pretty, indeed ! I cannot see how you can look any 
prettier; there is none to compare with you, now.” 

“Well, good bye,” of¥ering her hand which he took and 
pressed to his lips. 

“Oh, you naughty man!” she laughingly said, and hit him 
with her hand as she drew it away from his grasp. 

“Ah, a lady is never in ignorance of her own beauty.” 

“Just wait until you see me tonight; it will be one of the 
rnost successful attempts of my life.” 

“You will, no doubt, enjoy it very much, and you had ought 
to, after the trouble and expense you have gone to for this 
occasion.” 

“Oh, yes, Mr. Alton; speaking of expense, I have indeed 
gone to a great expense, and I fear I shall cause Mr. Bray’s 


— 144 - 


displeasure, and would not like for him to know just how 
much. Could you lend me a few dollars, until I get through 
with the entertaining of the baron and baroness?’’ 

‘‘Oh, certainly; how much do you want?” 

‘‘Not much for a man of your wealth; ten thousand dol- 
lars will do.” 

“Ten thousand !” cried he, under his breath. “I never ex- 
pect to see that much money in my life!” 

Then, aloud,. “Very well; you will not want it today?”’ 

“Oh, no; tomorrow will do,” she replied, smiling as she 
waved her hand toward the door. 

“All right; I will see you tomorrow.” Then, stopping sud- 
denly as he was about to leave, “Has Mr. Bray arrived?” 

“Yes; he is now in his room, dressing for dinner, where I 
should be at this moment.” 

“Then I will not detain you any longer,” and hurriedly 
went out, going toward the pool where he found Helen, as 
we already have seen. 

After putting his prisoners safely in jail, he started to the 
hotel in search of Clarence. To his satisfaction he learned 
that the baron had arrived and had not met the baroness yet, 
as they were stopping at different hotels, and were not aware 
of each other’s presence. 

Frank was aware of the quarrel between them, and now he 
was anxious to find out how matters would turn out. 

“Do you believe they will become reconciled, if they should 
meet ?” 

“It won’t be my mother’s fault of they don’t; she dearly 
loves her husband.” 

“Then we may hope for the best; and I will now see the 
baron and we will be on hand for the dinner.” 

Going out he was soon at the hotel and was greeted pleas- 
antly by the baron, who was all ready to go out. 


— 145 — 


“Well, my dear sir; I am here as you requested. Now tell 
me how you have succeeded ; anything new ?” 

“Yes, sir; I have been very successful and now want your 
presence at once. We are to dine with the Brays this even- 
ing, and it is now time we were there. Shall I call a car- 
riage?” 

“Yes, sir; I am ready. Lead the way!” exclaimed the baron 
as they proceeded down stairs. 

Frank lost no time in finding a carriage, and they were 
soon on their way to Mr. Bray’s mansion. 

Helen had taken her mother home, and helping her from the 
carriage, she led her into the parlor and placed her comfort- 
ably upon the sofa, and placing a footstool by her side for Eva, 
she bade her sit down. Glancing around the room she beheld 
a lace shawl belonging to her stepmother, lying on the back 
of a chair, and taking it she covered her mother with it, then 
turned around in time to see her stepmother coming bustling 
into the room. She was dressed gorgeously, which contrasted 
with her pale face. 

“What ! you here, and not dressed yet ? It is now dinner time ; 
I heard a carriage and thought the guests had arrived, and here 
you stand in that outlandish costume! Do you think for a 
moment that I will allow you to dine in that attire? Go and 
dress at once ! I will let you know that I am mistress of this 
house, and will be obeyed !” 

“No you are not mistress of this house!” Then stepping 
aside and pointing to her mother, said, “There is the mis- 
tress of this house, and she will be obeyed !” 

“In the name of heaven ! who have you there? A beggar” — 

“No, not a beggar; but my mother!” 

“It is false! Your mother is dead; I am the only mother 
you have now ! Who is this woman who has dar^ to call 
herself your mother? She is an impostor! She must be 


put out at once!” Going toward Mrs. Bray who had now 
risen from her reclining position, turning her burning eyes 
upon her: 

“B^one, you beggar ! You are an escaped convict from an 
asylum, and cannot play your imposition on me! Leave this 
house, or I will have you arrested !” and going to the bell she 
gave it a violent ring. “Go!” she exclaimed, pointing toward 
the door, “or you will be put out!” 

A servant entered. Then, pointing to Mrs. Bray, “Put that 
woman out! She is an impostor; a crazy beggar!” 

As the man started toward Mrs. Bray, Helen stepped be- 
tween them, saying, “No; you shall not put my mother out! 
and I order you to put that woman out ! she is the impostor !” 

At this moment Mr. Bray entered the room. Helen was 
standing in front of her mother, hiding her from Mr. Bray’s 
view. 

“Come, come, Helen! what does this mean? Why are you 
disturbing your mother in this manner?” 

Before Helen could reply, her stepmother answered: 

“She has brought some b^gar woman and child here in 
this room, with their dirty rags, and I have ordered them out 
and she will not let them be put o.ut, and I am expecting com- 
pany every minute!” 

“Come, Helen ; you must obey your mother and have them 
put out!” 

“Yes, I will obey my mother; but not that woman!” Then, 
stepping aside, “There is my mother!” 

Mrs. Bray arose to her feet with a low cry, “My husband !” 

Mr. Bray stared at her in speechless amazement, then with 
outstretched arms and a cry of joy, he started toward her. 

“My wife! my darling wife!” and she was enclosed within 
his strong arms. 


— 147 — 


‘‘My God!’' came in a distressed cry from the woman who 
witnessed this scene. At that moment the servant announced 
the baroness and her sons. Turning, she beheld Clarence with 
his mother on his arm, little Arthur at her side. Clarence 
bowed courteously presenting his mother. There was a mo- 
ment’s silence as the two- women faced each other, then came 
a hoarse cry. 

“Countess Willoughby! Impossible!” then staggering back, 
placed her hand over her heart, and gazed wildly around the 
room. 

“Josephine Rollins, where is my child, that you stole from 
me?” 

The Baron Walton and Frank Alton were then announced. 

“Arthur!” exclaimed the baroness, as she sprang toward 
him, and was clasped in his outstretched arms. 

“Oh, my God!” again came the wild cry, “what does this 
mean? Am I entrapped? I thought I was mistress of this 
house!” 

“You were mistress once, but you are mistress no longer,” 
came excitedly from Helen as she glanced at her with wither- 
ing scorn. 

Josephine turned to Frank Alton. 

“Oh, take me away from this house or I shall go mad !” 

“Yes, Josephine Rollins, I will take you away for that is 
what I am here for. I have here a warrant for your arrest for 
the kidnapping of a little child of the Baron and Baroness 
Walton. I now ask you if you know the whereabouts of that 
child?” 

“No, sir, I do not!” came in tones of bitter hatred and scorn 
from the enraged Josephine. 

“Then I will tell you!” and going across the room, he took 
little Eva by the hand and led her to the baron and baroness, 
saying, 


— 148 — 


‘‘Here is your long* lost child, the same that was stolen from 
you by that woman 

The baroness fell to her knees and embraced Eva in a 
mother's loving embrace. The baron kneeling beside them 
with one arm around the baroness and the other around Eva, 
while little Arthur stood near gazing in wonder at his new 
found sister, not realizing his own position. Clarence had 
stepped to Helen's side, looking his surprise at the strange 
woman who was being held closely in the arms of her father. 

Josephine stood staring at them like a lioness at bay. Frank 
Alton stepped to her side and taking her by the arm, said, 
“You are my prisoner!" 

Josephine sprang from him with a cry of terror. Putting 
her hands to her head, she reeled around and would have 
fallen, had not Frank Alton caught her in his arms. With a 
groan and a faint struggle, then she lay motionless in Frank's 
arms. 

He gazed down at her white face and closed eyes, and with 
a feeling of honor, he felt for her heart, which to his great sur- 
prise had ceased to beat. 

All eyes were now turned toward the unfortunate Josephine. 
With a feeling of awe they listened tO' the words of Frank Al- 
ton as he laid the form of the once beautiful Josephine upon 
the sofa, saying, “My friends, she has answered for her crimes. 
She is dead!" 


— 149 — 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

RECONCILIATIONS. 

One week after the foregoing chapter and again the Bray 
mansion was brilliantly lighted. It was the occasion of Clar- 
ence and Helen's wedding. 

The week had been passed in explanations. Mrs. Bray 
was kept busy telling of her wonderful experiences in the coal 
camp. Many sympathizing friends called to welcome her 
back once more to her home. 

Josephine Rollins had been buried in the Glenwood ceme^ 
tery, and the nine days' wonder had about ceased when the 
cards were out for the wedding. Glenwood society was all 
agog over the occasion. 

The baroness was much pleased with Helen and ordered a 
bridal trosseau at her own expense, at the same time purchas- 
ing a wardrobe for the neglected Eva, who was now a spoiled 
child from the attention paid her by the baron and baroness. 

Clarence soon learned to love his little sister dearly, while 
little Arthur scarcely allowed her out of his sight. 

On the eve o-f the wedding she was dressed and allowed to 
walk in the garden until the hour of the ceremony. She 
strutted around like a young peacock, admiring her dress 
and was thus engaged when little Arthur made his appearance. 
Seeing Eva he at once joined her in her walk. 

''Oh, Arthur! don't I look stunning in this outfit? Ain't 
my dress lovely? How dO' you like it, anyway?" 

Arthur gazed at her in admiration. Although he thought her 
very rude, his mother had told him that he must look after 
his little sister, and help her to overcome her rude habits, and 
thinking it was now time to check her from using slang, he 
began : 


— 150 — 


‘‘Yes, Eva; you look beautiful, but your language does not 
correspond with your dress.’’ 

“Oh, now, Mr. Smart Aleck! have you come to lecture me? 
I’ll just tell you right now, it’s no go! I am my own boss! 
What do you know? I’ll just bet you don’t know a mountain 
trout from a sucker.” 

“I may not know that, but I dO' know that I am to look after 
you and protect you.” 

“What do you want to protect me for ? I can take care of 
myself. I wasn’t raised in the west to be scared at chip-monks, 
and now I’ll just bet you a nickel that you don’t know a chip- 
monk from a squirrel!” 

“Well, it may be that I don’t, but I will fight anything that 
would come to hurt you, no matter if it was a chip-monk!” 

“What could you do, you poor little tenderfoot, raised in 
a hothouse, and never had a smell of pure mountain air until 
you came here? And the first send-off you want to protect 
me. I’ll just tell you, you had better look after yourself! 
Brave! why. I’ll just bet you’d run from a jack rabbit!” 

“No, Eva; I love you and I wouldn’t even let a jack rabbit 
hurt you ! I have a gun that Clarence bought for me on pur- 
pose to kill wild animals with when I got out west. He says 
there are lots of them in the mountains. I am surprised that 
you have lived this long without being killed, with no one to 
protect you, and mamma says it’s a miracle that mountain 
lions haven’t eaten you up.” 

“Don’t you fool yourself, young man! When I was with 
Dick, I wasn’t afraid of the biggest mountain lion that ever 
run.” 

“Dick! and who is he?” 

“Oh, now you would like to know, wouldn’t you? Well, 
I will tell you; he is the nicest fellow that ever lived.” 


— 151 — 


“What ! do you love him, Eva ?” 

“I should smile! Hasn’t he given me many a ride, the dear 
fellow ?” 

“Eva, I have a pair of ponies at home and you can ride every 
day.” 

“Oh, yes; but I wouldn’t have Dick, and I have begged 
mamma to send for Dick. At first she laughed at me, but I 
kept on begging and coaxing, and she said she loved me so 
dearly that she could not refuse me anything, so she has prom- 
ised to send for Dick.” 

“What ! send for that horrid fellow ? If he comes here I’ll 
make him wish he was back in camp !” 

“Oh, you mean thing! tO' call him horrid, when he is just 
the sweetest, best fellow that ever lived; and to think you 
would dare to talk that way about him, and call him names !” 

“But, Eva, you know I love you, and I can’t bear to have 
you talk that way about some low, ill-bred fellow; you are 
to be a lady, and must look higher !” 

“Higher? I am sure Dick is as high as you are, and just 
as high as I want him tO' be !” 

“You poor, ignorant little girl! When you get back to 
New York you will soon forget your low playfellow, and will 
then love me.” 

“I won’t never forget Dick; and I just hate you, that’s 
what I do!” 

“Now come, Eva; let’s make up, and promise me that you 
won’t speak to Dick when he comes; then mamma will send 
him back.” 

“What! not speak to my darling Dick? Why, I shall just 
run and hug him, and it is time he was here. Mamma said 
he would be here tonight, and I only want him now to make 
me perfectly happy!” 

“Oh, Eva! what can I say or do to make you give him up? 


— 152 — 


You know I love you, and would do anything for you.’' 

‘Well, look here, Arthur; if you will promise to love Dick 
and not call him names, I will love you, too.” 

“And you will still love that long-haired beggar? 

“Now, there it is again; long-haired beggar! Well, if 
he has got long hair, and if he did come and beg things to 
eat at our cabin, he is the dearest fellow, all the same!” 

“Eva, he couldn’t protect you from the wild animals; he 
hasn’t got a gun; he would let the mountain lions eat you 
up !” 

“No, he wouldn’t! Haven’t I just jumped on his back 
many a time, and he has run away from the mountain lions 
and bears and everything?” 

“Jumped on his back! Heavens! if she should jump on my 
back when we are in New York, wouldn’t I feel nice? My! 
but she is a rude girl, and we will have to tame her!” 

“Oh ! there comes Dick now. Oh, you dear old fellow ; how 
glad I am to see you, and Arthur has been calling you names, 
the mean fellow; if he don’t stop, we won’t love him one bit, 
will we, darling?” And putting her arms around his neck, 
gave him a hug, as Arthur, who had started back in great 
fright, crying, “Oh, come away, Eva! What is it? Is it a 
mountain liori? Oh, come away; it will kill you! Look at 
its ears; it must be a ferocious jackrabbit! Come away, do!” 

He had never before seen a burro, and could not imagine 
what it was, and was really much frightened, while Eva was 
delighted at his fear, and climbing on the animal’s back called 
out, laughingly, “Why don’t you come and protect me, you 
brave boy?” 

“Oh, Eva ! I will run and get my gun !” and away he scam- 
pered toward the house. Running along he bumped head-first 
against a servant, who, on seeing the boy’s fright, asked : 

“Hello! what is the matter, young man?” 


— 153 — 


'‘A mountain lion is carrying off Eva, and I want my gun 

‘‘Never mind, young man; it won’t be the last lion that will 
be trying to carry off the young lady. Just wait a few years 
and you will need more than one gun to keep the lions away, 
or you will lose your sweetheart for sure.” 

“But why don’t you come and help me tO' save her? See, 
she is on that horrid thing’s back!” 

Eva, who had taken a turn in the garden, was now coming 
toward them as happy as a lark, while Arthur clung to the 
servant in fear. 

“Come and take a ride, Arthur; he will carry both of us!” 
cried Eva, laughingly. “Yes, get on behind; he won’t hurt 
you.” 

“Come, I will help you on,” replied the servant as he took 
Arthur in his arms and sat him on behind Eva. 

“Oh, take me off! I don’t want to ride!” cried out Arthur in 
great fear. 

“Oh, yes you do ; hold on tight now, and we will see how 
fast he can go.” 

She then kicked the burro in the sides and off he started, 
Eva shouting with laughter, “Who is the protection, now?” as 
they disappeared from sight. 


— 154 — 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

AFTKR MANY DAYS. 

It was now eight o’clock; the guests had all arrived and a 
larger and more brilliant crowd had seldom been seen in 
Glenwood. The Amazons had turned out in uniform to wit- 
ness the marriage of their captain. 

The large and spacious parlors were thrown open and on 
each side were arranged the guests. In the center of the 
room hung a large bell composed of the most beautiful flow- 
ers, while flowers were scattered through the whole house in 
abundance, and their fragrance filled the air. From the veranda 
came the soft strains of the wedding march, played by a skilled 
band. Eager eyes were strained to catch a glimpse of the 
coming bridal pair. 

Clarence and Helen came first, arm in arm ; then came Ar- 
thur and Eva, holding magnificent bouquets; then came Mr. 
and Mrs. Bray ; after them, the baron and baroness ; and last, 
but not least, came the detective Frank Alton, holding in his 
hands a handsome basket filled with handsomely engraved 
souvenirs, which were to be given to the guests at the close 
of the ceremony. 

The bridal party was now arranged before the minister and 
the ceremony began. As the last words were spoken that made 
Clarence and Helen man and wife, the band struck up a lively 
air, and the guests gathered around to congratulate the happy 
pair. 

Refreshments were then announced, and they all proceeded 
to the dining room, where a bounteous spread lay before them. 

After supper those who wished to spend the evening in 
dancing remained, while others accompanied the bridal pair 
to the train, from whence they departed at once for Califor- 
nia and the western sea coast. 


— 155 — 


The baron and baroness remained at Glenwood until the 
return of the bridal pair a month hence. 

Eva and little Arthur became great friends and both became 
expert swimmers from their many indulgences in the pool, 
while their parents looked on in delight. 

Dick, the burro, now had two staunch friends, inste^id of 
one. 

Frank Alton, now that his business was through, returned 
east, after seeing that the two- men had been sentenced to pay 
the penalty they deserved. 

Mrs. Bray did not forget her friend, ‘‘the foreman” of the 
mines, and when the baroness sent for Dick, a well-filled purse 
was sent by Mrs. Bray to the generous miners, as Mr. Bray’s 
mines had taken a turn for the better and were now in a 
flourishing condition. 

Helen and Clarence returned after a month’s tour, and then 
joined the baron and baroness on their journey back to New 
York, where they were to make their future homes. 

As little Arthur’s parents were both dead, the baron and 
baroness at once took steps for his adoption, making him an 
equal heir with Eva. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bray remained at their home at Glenwood 
Springs, and in after years occasionally received visits from 
Helen and Clarence. 

Mr. Bray now became a wealthy and much-respected man, 
and he and his wife could now live at their ease, with luxury 
on all sides, but they never forgot their early days of hard- 
ships and trouble of their first coming tO' Glenwood. 


THE^ ^ND. 


— 156 — 


THE GLENWOOD AMAZON GUARDS. 


Written By Mrs. A. M. Book, March i, i8pi. 


The Glenwood Amazon Guards are we, 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

We are all girls, as you can see. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

We can march and go through a drill. 

And every girl her place can fill, 

For we are the Glenwood Amazon Guards. 

The Glenwood Amazon Guards are girls. 
Hurrah! Hurrah! 

With hair cut short, and some in curls. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

When we are called out, • the Indians to fight. 

There will be none of us out of sight. 

For we are the Glenwood Amazon Guards. 

The Glenwood Amazon Guards are brave. 
Hurrah! Hurrah! 

We curl our hair, but we do' not shave. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

And when we gO' out to drill, 

The boys all call out with a will, 

“There goes the Glenwood Amazon Guards.” 

The Glenwood Amazon Guards are fair. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

Now, boys, of them you must beware. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

The Glenwood Amazon Guards are fair, 

But not with a boy their hearts can share. 

For they are the Glenwood Amazon Guards. 


— 157 — 


The Glenwood Amazon Guards are sweet, 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

You will think so, when we are on the street. 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 

But the Glenwood Amazon Guards are good ; 

They will not flirt, not if they could. 

For we are the Glenwood Amazon Guards. 

The Amazon Guards will give a Ball, 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

You are all invited to give us a call. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

The Amazon Guards will give a dance; 

Now, boys, this is your chance 

To' come and see the Glenwood Amazon Guards. 

As the Amazons march through the streets. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

They’ll keep time with their pretty feet. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

As they go marching out of sight 

The boys will shout with all their might, 

‘‘Three cheers for the Glenwood Amazon Guards !” 


(Air to “Johnny Comes Marching Home.”) 
Composed and written by Mrs. A. M. Book, for the story 
of “A Romance of Glenwood Springs.” 



) 

, 

'l 

i 


i 

w 

.1 


1 




i 

V 


J 


I 


I 


1 

'1 

I 

1 









c 



»j 






< 

■ h 

‘3 

i 

\ 

■1 

\ 













